Damn Them All To Hell!
by jonadark
Summary: Harry Potter: Boyfriendless Auror Extraordinaire and glorified…babysitter? Post Hogwarts, AU, Slash, DMHP
1. Chapter 1

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All To Hell!

**Summary: Harry Potter: Boyfriend-less Auror Extraordinaire and glorified…babysitter? Post Hogwarts, AU, Slash, DMHP**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor make any money from the characters created by J.K. Rowling.**

**Warning: Content and views expressed in this story may or may not be that of the author. This is a piece of fiction. If you find anything offensive due to morals or religious upbringing, keep it to yourself and discontinue reading this story. You are free to stop reading at any point. The choice is yours.**

* * *

Harry Potter was a grown man of twenty-five thank you very much. He did _not_ need this! Tossing the tabloid he'd been less than eager receive on his desk he took another disgusted look at it's (heaven help me) pulsing headlines.

While _Tidilias Fortuna _had risen in popularity quite quickly—much to the pleasure of it's maintainer, it was a constant annoyance for those whose unfortunate lives it touched.

Tidilias was a fellow auror, or auror-es if one got technical about it, and she spared no thought to Harry's state of mind when publishing her daily—he got the impression of hourly—tabloid. After all, she would argue, who other than the one and only Harry Potter did the gossiping community want to read about?

Had he been able to suggest other names…oh, some quidditch player or another, she would surely give him _the _look. You know, the one that tells you just what a moron you really are. So he didn't mention other names. Instead, he did his part in the process and simply let her write what she pleased without protest.

And then there were days like today…

Harry rubbed the almost permanent knot he'd developed at the base of his neck. Days like today, when he'd have asked, begged, Tidilias to exploit anyone but him. Anyone. And he'd do so without regret.

Instead, he rubbed the knot as he plunked down in his worn, yet comfy, chair. Knowing that what had been printed early that morning and was now in the distributing process was a load of horseshit was a little comfort. It did have it's amusing moments…at times. Tidilias and company had a think-tank with the sole purpose of Harry-reporting on active duty twenty-four seven. And when they wanted to leave the office to do a bit of honest journalism, Harry often found himself unsubtly stalked throughout the office. Which had to be down right bloody ass boring.

He'd be the first to admit he was less than interesting.

They could stalk him at his desk…doodling.

They could stalk him through the hallway.

The break room.

The bathroom…

Harry grimaced, they hadn't tried that yet…err…to his knowledge.

His eyes involuntarily flitted back down to the tabloid and it's pulsing headline. "Boy Who Lived to…" Oh yes, Tidi was utilizing the keep 'em waiting tactic "Shag blokes in dark gray cloaks?" He couldn't believe anyone of sane mind wouldn't cringe at such a thing.

While his sexual preference had caused a slight uproar five years ago when it became public knowledge (some guy just had to gloat that they'd been romantically propositioned by the boy who lived) it hadn't deterred any of his fans, which now had a broader range of admirers, all claiming to be the man or woman of his dreams.

But having your name associated with any nonsense at all was quite hard on one's peace of mind. Even more so when every day or so there was another shot of him with some guy and a headline pronouncing anonymous man to be Harry's one true love. The picture accompanying today's lovely headline was actually one of Harry and Micky Sloan, a fellow auror. They'd been in the break room, conversing over morning coffee and donuts when Tidilias had come in and snapped the picture.

Micky was a nice guy. Well built, healthy, with curly cinnamon hair, and completely straight. He was pretty sure the guy had designs on Hermione.

Thinking of the devil.

"Good morning Harry." Hermione called cheerfully as she entered their shared office. Her hair was clipped back, her face tinged pink. Harry wondered if she'd run all the way to the office. Her eyes sparkled brightly—he knew she'd finally gotten a good nights sleep…well, a rest if anything…bed partners and all, ahem—and he smiled up at her a good morning. Dropping her coat on the chair opposite him she glanced at the paper. "I see Tidi decided you and Sloan make quite the couple."

"Can't imagine why." Harry gave the tabloid a shove, sending it thumping into the trash, no longer interested. He looked up at his best friend, crooked grin in place. Hermione and him, they'd come a long way since their Hogwarts days. The Golden Trio had all gone through auror training after graduation. Harry had been offered the Defense Against the Dark Arts position after he'd finished, but had rejected it. Why exactly…he still wasn't quite sure. It just hadn't _felt _right. Ron had decided that Britain was too boring a place and had taken after Charlie and Bill. Half the year, if not longer, saw the gangly redhead gallivanting off around the world. His letters, as well as gifts, were quite legendary. After all, he was the brother of Fred and George. They were bound to rub off on him eventually, and eventually seemed to be the moment he was out and away from under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Weasley. And then there was Hermione. While she'd grown out of her awkward bushy-haired stage, while she'd worked her way out of the crush on Ron (and vice versa), Hermione never did grow out of her thirst for knowledge. Thus it had not surprised Harry when, during auror training, she had announced that she was also training to be a healer. Ever the overachiever, their Hermione…but, as a result, she was one of the top healers and even St. Mongo's had been hell bent on having her on their research staff. As it were, both Hermione and Harry had stayed with the Ministry.

Well, only after the change in management.

And speaking of management, it would probably be best for him to listen to Hermione as she spoke.

"Oh and congratulations on your last mission. Another success, I heard. And Dillon wants to see us stat."

"It went well. You still working on WizDNA and Magical Signature Database? That project is sure keeping you lot running." She nodded. "Almost done?" He asked.

"Yes. But there are so many hiccups and corruptions. Not only that but we've had trouble with misplaced signatures, lost ID tags." Hermione rolled her eyes. "I almost wish I was the only one working on it. Merlin knows Scottie has the IQ equivalent of Ron."

"Mind always in the gutter?"

"I don't think it ever leaves. Doesn't make for a very competent employee."

Harry laughed. But it was true. He'd heard, either from a ranting Hermione, or some other pissed off individual, that they'd lost a lot of the magical signatures they had collected. The database had been composed mostly of POW's after the war. Quite like muggle criminal databases. Only they used the magical signature, unique to each wand, Witch, and Wizard, instead of fingerprints which are easy to manipulate. DNA was also collected which, as far as Harry could tell, wasn't much different than the muggle method. He didn't really know too much about it, not being privy to the information, and Hermione signed to silence.

He knew that there was an investigation going on, after all the lost data was logged, it had been decided inside theft was the only logical conclusion.

"Our problems are far from over." Hermione's hand tried to cover a not-so-stifled yawn.

Harry leaned back in his chair, feeling rather smug. "Didn't you get enough sleep last night?"

The woman stifled another yawn, sending Harry the glare of death. "Oh shut up. He didn't stay."

"Chased him off did you?" He said in reference to Hermione's new boyfriend. Well, he wasn't really all that _new _anymore. Supposing that once you get past the six months mark, you've got to start weighing the idea that this person is indeed sticking.

"I'd tell you all about it, Harry, but my sexual life bores you." She tossed her empty Styrofoam cup into the trash as they exited.

Harry shrugged, in his opinion, five a.m. was a dastardly time to begin the day, but that didn't mean he wasn't up to a little verbal sparring with his best mate. "It doesn't bore me, I just can't seem to relate."

"Ah."

He didn't need to see the brunette to know an eyebrow had risen. "Oh get your head out of the gutter." Harry groaned. "I just meant sex in a relationship."

Hermione's red lips curved into a mocking smile. "Poor Harry, no relationships for you."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"I will."

Smirking Hermione raised that defined eyebrow to an indecent level. "How exactly?"

"I'll glue your ass to a broomstick and send it for a nice non-stop trip 'round London."

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. "You had better not so much as consider that. I'll hex your dick off—fair warning."

"Ah, well, my boyfriend would sure dislike that."

Brown eyes made a show of inspected the water-stained tiles of the ceiling, before meeting with laughing green. "What boyfriend."

Harry tried to look indignant. "I'll have one…someday. Once Tidi stops scaring them all away."

"Oh yes, blame it on Tidi. And how were things going between you and Micky?"

Harry paused, holding open their bosses door. He grinned, white teeth flashing. "Smashing, darling, completely smashing."

Their boss was a middle aged (and showing it) man by the name of Dillon Foreign. He liked things big and flashy, and his office décor was a testament to this. However, the man wasn't unreasonable, and had taken a liking to both Harry and Hermione—for reasons other than their accompanying last names. He was a fair man, and Harry was more than relieved that he'd been the one to get the job as Head of Defense.

Dillon greeted his aurors with a wave as he held a muggle telephone to his ear. And not the receiver piece either.

Harry had never taken Dillon to be an idiot, even though the man was indeed a pureblood, he was very knowledgeable in muggle custom and technology. So why was the man talking to the base of an old-style touch tone phone?

"Mhmm. I completely understand. Yes. Yes. Hmm…I suppose not. Yes, I do understand. No. No, we can't have you reinstated. Why? Well, you see…" He glanced up at his two aurors as they sat and held up a finger. "Yes, I know you work perfectly, but…listen phone…I'm sorry I…look, fine, I'll…I'll talk to you later. Yes, I'll try to have you reinstated. Okay, goodbye."

Dillon placed the phone down and pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist the annoying object was banished back down to muggle product services. He sighed. Only five o'clock and he was already dealing with, "Misfired spell. Packeridge aimed a strong personality charm at an assistant, hit the telephone. It wants to be put back to use."

"Ah." Was all he got from his top aurors as they made themselves more than comfortable on his plush leather couch.

"Well then. First, I wanted to congratulate you, Harry, on your team's success."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Aw, shucks boss. It was nut'in."

"Don't be a smart ass Potter."

"Yes sir."

Dillon nodded his head approvingly. "Now that we've got our morning underway, I want you two to sign off on this right here." He picked up the contracts and two pens heaving himself up, joints creaking slightly as he moved. He shoved paper and pen into waiting hands and made his was back to his chair.

The two signed.

"What is it?" Harry asked as he finished the not-so-neat scrawl of 'Potter' on the dotted line. The paper glowed faintly and, with a pop, disappeared.

Dillon settled himself down, fingering his wand lightly (out of their sight) as he said his next words carefully. "Your next mission."

Hermione's head jerked to attention. "Harry and I are going to work together? On a mission?" He nodded. "And you just had us sign bonding contracts, _before _you told us what it was." Her boss nodded once more. "Which makes me inclined to believe this is not an ordinary assignment, sir."

The heavy-set man murmured in agreement. "Always the bright one."

"What sort of assignment would have you tricking us into sighing contracts beforehand?" Harry asked.

"I resent that Harry. I did not trick you, you both neglected to read what you signed, which shows me the absolute trust you both have in me. I'm flattered, but I was also counting on that." His mouth pressed into a crease. "As to what would be bad enough I would have you sign binding contracts..." he turned away from them. "You may come in now."

Dillon inspected his aurors as the man entered, he was rather impressed as they remained seated upon seeing the creature (and yes, he knew that both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger considered this man a creature, he was contemplating the validity of such himself)looking just as stoic as he had earlier this morning.

It was commonly known that, what a Malfoy wants, a Malfoy gets. And this had turned out to be no exception.

"You have got to be _fucking _kidding me?" Hermione screeched.

Dillon cringed inwardly. This was not going to be easy on the woman.

Polyjuice, Harry thought. Merlin let it be polyjuice. POLYJUICE! It was really Micky, or Sean. There was no way in hell that Draco Malfoy was really standing in his boss's office. There was no way that he'd just signed a contract that had _anything _to do with the asshole in front of him.

"Granger, this is no joke. And no, Potter, I really am here. You can relieve that one brain cell of yours from the task of maintaining whatever mantra you happened to come up with. Feel free to rejoin those of us with an IQ above that of a common house-elf."

Harry blinked, staring into barred gray eyes. His body temperature dropped a few precious degrees, leaving him pale and cold. Damn it, Malfoy was a fucking prick who just had to show his not-so-ugly face when things were just starting to go right again. And here Harry had just started to believe there was a God.

He glanced at Hermione. They'd come so far.

How was it that someone could disappear for nearly half a decade, finally leaving everyone the hell alone, suddenly decide to show back up again?

He, for one, had not mourned the loss of Draco bloody Malfoy when the prat had dropped off the Earth's face all those years ago.

He hadn't worried over him.

Or given him a second thought since leaving Hogwarts. Had it not been publicized that the Mafoy heir had gone, he probably would never have noticed at all.

"Sit down Mr. Malfoy as I explain to them what is going on."

Hermione's dark brown eyes followed the man as he languidly seated himself. Maybe, she thought, Dillon had been drugged. Maybe he was under the Imperious curse. Maybe…

"Harry? Hermione? Are you two going to need another minute or so?"

Hermione shook herself out of her inner thoughts to glare at the man.

"They're shocked, Foreign, their little bitty brains can't cope with my presence." Draco sneered.

"Mr. Malfoy." Dillon said coldly. "You have enlisted my help. No, rather you demanded it. And you demanded the best. You demanded, by name, Mr. Harry Potter and Ms. Hermione Granger. Now, I know you know of their qualifications, you know that they are the _best_ at what they do. Now let me tell you something. I will not stand by while you insult my Aurors in front of me. Kindly keep your mouth shut."

Harry's state of shock only deepened as the prat complied. No rude comebacks were uttered—a knowing silence filling the room.

"So what exactly is this _mission_?" Besides a trip to hell, Hermione clamped down as bitterness filled her mouth. It was thick, too thick. Merlin, she felt sick.

"Mr. Malfoy has been receiving threats."

"And this surprises you?" Harry asked, eyebrows rising questioningly.

"It wouldn't be surprising to find he has made enemies wherever he has been these past years." Hermione added.

"Perhaps, but we have reason to believe that these threats are coming from someone the Ministry has been keeping track of. Well, were, until they disappeared last August."

"They?" Harry hunched forward, his hands folding in his lap. "How serious do you think this is? It could be nothing more than a bunch of kids who want to mess around with a big bad wolf."

"Mr. Malfoy believes these threats to be of a more personal nature," He glanced at the unmoving blond, "as they are aimed at his children."

Silence accompanied the declaration. Hermione looked shocked. Dillon knew better than to delve into what exactly she might be thinking…or feeling…and Potter just looked disgusted. Almost smirking himself, Dillon coughed to hide his amusement. Potter's disgust, he could only imagine, was on multiple levels.

Could the floor just open up and swallow him? Harry pleaded with each and every one of the forces that be. Just thinking that there were mini-Malfoy's running around was enough to make him wretch. But aside from the mini-Malfoy's that had materialized in his conscience, Harry swallowed heavily. Threatening to harm children, using them, hurting them. People who could do that, he didn't believe they should even qualify as human, let alone, be given rights.

Green eyes met brown and Harry acknowledged their shared thoughts. He nodded slightly at Hermione's green-tinged skin. His question pointed, are you okay? She shook her head.

Were they ever okay? Harry doubted it. But, they'd have to take care of that later. This wasn't over yet.

"You…reproduced?" Harry managed, rather disgusted that even he couldn't keep the horror of it all from his voice.

"That is usually understood when one says they have children."

"But who…" Hermione started to ask what woman in their right mind would willingly give him a kid, let alone kids.

"That is not the matter at hand, Granger. My children are being threatened. And while I loath to think I've sunk so low as to need yours and Potters assistance, I have done it. To protect my children."

"I still can't really see why this concerns me or Hermione?" Harry looked to his boss.

Dillon pinched the bridge of his nose. Five forty-eight and he was losing his two best aurors to Malfoy for who knew how long. "There was an attempt on the youngest Malfoy's life.

"That is sick." Hermione, though Merlin knew she hated Malfoy, would never sink to attacking a child.

"Given Hermione is correct. I still do not see how this concerns us." Harry stated stubbornly, his arms crossing defensively as Malfoy sneered at him. God that man never changed.

"Mr. Malfoy came to me this morning, and you and Ms. Granger are to be in his service until the threat is neutralized and Mr. Malfoy believes the lives of his children safe."

"So this time line is…"

"Indefinite, yes." Dillon sighed at the twin looks of shock and betrayal he received. "Don't think I came to this decision lightly, you two. I am loosing my two best aurors as well. Who knows when you'll be returning to us."

"So what the fuck am I to do for the next eon, as Malfoy sits around trying to decide if his kids are safe from a vicious letter, while simultaneously making our lives a living hell?"

"You'll be doing whatever it is he says. I am no longer to be held responsible for you. Your wellbeing has been entrusted to Mr. Malfoy. Therefore, he needn't tell me anything." The twin looks of horror did not die, if anything they were now becoming bug-eyed and strained. He hoped they were both remembering to breath between blinks.

"Chocolate?" He held out a bar. "No?" He shrugged. "Here." He handed them two folders. "Review these. And pack up your things. As of noon today you will be residing at Mr. Malfoy's residence." He looked at them expectantly. They remained unresponsive. "Get out." He said kindly, even going so far as to push them out the door.

As it snapped closed, Dillon told the blond exactly where he should go. He'd never liked the Malfoy, agreed full heartedly with both Harry and Hermione and was sorrier beyond sorry that he'd had to bind them to Malfoy.

"You're a right bastard."

Draco looked over the man coolly, "I'll be back." Disappearing without a goodbye.

Dillon Foreign shook his head and groaned. "Too soon. Too soon."

Damn them all to hell.

Damn each and every D-named person! Damn all them with the last fucking name Malfoy as well—and while he was at it, damn them a few more times for the fucking hell of it.

Harry threw the file his boss had handed him a few short minutes ago onto his desk. It opened, the information—a nice collage of names and pictures—spilling out. He sat down with a huff and wondered just how many people he could damn to the depths of a fire laced pit. Would his influence as boy-who-lived stretch that far? Never mind. He'd make a list anyway.

He'd never been more upset in his life, Merlin how could this be happening. Malfoy! Bloody git. Why couldn't he just stay missing? He'd been happy, obviously if children had resulted. Why the fuck come back? Harry knew he wouldn't have, if placed in the situation.

But…

He urged the file and all its papers to spontaneously ignite—give him a pretty show full of dancing blue flame and ash and destruction. He'd cackle too, just for dramatic effect.

He was sorely disappointed. Instead he grabbed quill and paper and began to make that aforementioned list.

Damn Dean Thomas, Harry wrote the name in curving script, watching the letters form…he suddenly caught sight of a smirking and taunting picture. "Malfoy!" Harry hissed and made a mad grab for the paper on which was featured Draco Malfoy. Harry balled the paper in furry and tossed it towards the trash—missing.

Harry's hand gripped the quill once more. Damn Dolores Umbridge! Damn Dillon Foreign. Damn Dudley and Petunia Dursely. Damn Vernon Dursely too.

The quill tip paused. Who else did he know whose names started with a 'D'? He wracked his brain fruitlessly and instead turned to damning those who were unlucky enough to be called Malfoy.

Damn Draco Malfoy! Harry's quill snapped, spraying ink over his beautiful list.

Well then, he thought, he'd just continue the list mentally. Take that you stupid quill!

He reached for the folder and removed the remaining papers. He almost gagged at the miniature Draco that greeted him. Albeit this one was smiling and looking rather cute, it didn't matter though, he was a Malfoy! He was damned.

The moment passed where Harry felt a maniacal bout of cackling would have been rather appropriate.

He set aside Damien Malfoy's page, only to be assaulted by a female version of the former.

Ha ha! Harry wondered if he'd lost his mind all a sudden. Was he sadistic for wishing these kids, and Malfoy, would all take the nice trip to all seven hells? He'd spare no expense. Really, who could resist? But it didn't matter. Mind or no mind, Harry was damning Drackella Malfoy.

And Dorian Malfoy!

And Draconilla Malfoy!

Harry paused amongst all his damning. What the hell was Malfoy's problem? Why the fuck hadn't he just called them Draco One, Two, Three, and Four?

Perhaps he wasn't the sick one, after all. What maniac named there kids Drackella and Draconilla? That had all the telltale signs of a raving lunatic.

Maybe he'd provide Malfoy the name of a nice ward. One for inbred pureblood wizards so that he would feel at home.

Of course it wasn't the kids' fault their father had gone round the bend, Harry thought as a momentary tinge of guilt passed through him.

And therein he found he needed to curse Malfoy once more.

Poor Damien, Drackella, Dorian, and Draconilla, Harry thought. Their father really was off his silver-engraved rocker.

But it was because of them that he was being forced into this situation.

Damn. This was a never ending circle!

"Fuck me." Harry moaned.

"You'd hex me later." Hermione mumbled.

Harry glanced up. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

"That's okay, you looked, err…deep in thought."

"Have you looked through this?" He gestured to the scattered contents of his folder.

Hermione nodded and sheepishly held up her own folder.

Harry's eyes alit with glee. "I so love you Hermione. I was thinking it. But…wow…"

Guilty as charged, Hermione blushed. "I got a little, um, overheated, while I ranted in the ladies room."

The folder, once a pristine manila, was now singed and blackened. Was that a trail of smoke he saw emanating from the left corner?

"Accidental burst of magic. You haven't had one of those in ages."

"I know. I think I'll kill Malfoy. I swear to Merlin, I'm going to make him pay for this."

Harry tried not to encourage this behavior. It wasn't healthy for Hermione—and he knew that she didn't want to have to undergo even one more hour therapy.

"We were both just getting back to normal." Hermione slumped, defeated, into her chair.

Harry glanced at his list, and knew he'd done more than regress. "I think, we should both just come to the conclusion that normal doesn't apply to us. Now, or ever."

"I have. That…" she sighed, her voice soft. "I'm just tired and we have to pack."

The two didn't talk as they packed their things. There wasn't much as they always had their belongings ready to go. Missions cropped up, and most of the time you hadn't the time to pop back home. It was more a re-organizing of the items, a way to pass time.

A knock broke through the silence.

Hermione, who was closer to the door, opened it and groaned.

"Ms. Granger, I see you are happy to see me."

"Thrilled."

Harry knew that voice and he fervently wished his office had a window. He was pretty sure that if it had, he'd be nothing more than a spot on the street below by now. That voice drove him into painful memories and he had to work hard to keep his walls, so carefully constructed, up.

"Mr. Potter. How nice it is to see you as well." Mr. Shower was an unpleasant man. He was also a psychiatrist. Enough said.

Two hours later, Hermione and Harry collapsed on their shared floral couch.

"I can't fucking believe he called Mr. Shower to give us a farewell session!"

"Cruel and unusual punishment. He's trying to show us he's boss." Harry groaned. It had become evident, quite soon, that Mr. Shower's pockets were laced with Malfoy coin.

"I am going to kill myself." Hermione moaned. Harry nodded in agreement before sitting up excitedly.

"What, what is it?"

Green eyes widened, hope filling them. "You are brilliant Hermione!"

"I am?" Hermione asked as Harry ran out of their office.

"Oh be a big boy, Harry."

"Are you implying that I'm acting childish?"

"Yes, yes you are!" Dillon Foreign was at his wits end. "Your fears are unfounded and not befitting a twenty-five year old auror."

"Oh wait! I've been mistaken, all these years. I've been living under the assumption that Malfoy really wanted to kill me when he pointed his wand and hissed off hexes that Merlin knows _should_ have killed me. But, I was mistaken! He was just trying to give me a pedicure!"

"Now you are being nothing short of ridiculous." Foreign shuffled the papers in his hand. Back to front, front to back—looking anywhere but at the angry Harry Potter.

One he was more than familiar with.

As was every other auror in the British Ministry.

"I didn't mean it when I said I disliked your tie last Friday."

Dillon tried not to snicker. "You're forgiven. But you are still going."

"Please!"

"No."

"I'll beg."

"No."

"Work extra hours?"

"You already do. Now Harry…"

"I'll paint your fucking house!"

Foreign smiled. "Harry…" He was going to regret this. "Maybe he's changed." Oh yes, he regretted that.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY? He's _changed_. Fuck me, yeah he's changed. He's grown up, became everything his father wanted him to be and more. He's rich and powerful and he's got you under his thumb. Aside from that, however, it is only a slightly more impressive version of what I suffered with through school!" Perched on the edge of madness, Harry did not care that he was no longer being rational. "Possibly if I could just forget all those years…I could learn to like Malfoy." Harry thought for a moment. "Perhaps if I underwent a massive brain hemorrhage. No, not even that could make me agree to this!"

Dillon Foreign cocked his head to the side. "There isn't any need for agreeing Harry. You and Ms. Granger _are_ going. I'm sorry if I gave you the false impression that either of you had a choice in the matter."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "You would force us? Even if we hadn't idiotically signed those contracts?"

"If the case were not so critical, Harry, you know I'd rather keep both you and Hermione here—where you could continue with your current work. But as of six this morning, you and Ms. Granger are employed by Draco Malfoy. You will both be there to protect him and his children."

"Little spawns of hell that they are." Harry muttered.

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. Tell me again why I have to do this?"

"Aside from the fact that you signed a binding contract?"

Harry cringed. "Yes!"

"Threats have been made as you were told this morning."

"So get a nice, beefy, body man."

"I've been told that the head Malfoy prefers his men lean."

Dillon snickered at his own joke as Harry gaped.

"Malfoy has specifically asked for Ms. Granger and you. Again, as you were told this morning."

"Asked?"

Dillon moved his head from side in a nonchalant manner. "Demanded. _As you already know._ Is there going to be a point to this, Harry?"

"That's the Malfoy we all love and know!" Harry smirked with mock enthusiasm, ignoring Dillon's question.

"Harry. I hope you've packed."

"He'll kill me." Harry stated.

"I doubt it."

"He will. It's Draco Fucking Malfoy! How do you know he isn't planning to kill me and Hermione? What assurances do you have?"

Dillon laced his fingers, leaning his form over the desk, he sighed, giving up. "Do you think that is a viable concern Harry?"

"Yes." Harry hissed, of course he thought it was a viable concern. The wanker had tried to kill him during their school days.

"Well then…" Dillon leaned back, his fingers forming a steeple, he caught Harry's eyes. "Would you prefer to be buried, or would you rather opt for cremation?"

* * *

**Warning (2): This story will be slash/yaoi/mm. If this offends you, please do not read further. This warning will not be repeated. You hereby read ahead at your own risk. **


	2. Chapter 2

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All to Hell

**Chapter Two**

**

* * *

**Was it possible to suddenly contract jaw-drop disease? Harry tried once again to work those jaw muscles—for crying out loud he used them every day to eat, talk, gape, and…well, let's not go there. Once didn't work, and twice was a pathetic failure, thrice was abysmal but good old four…Harry managed to close his mouth and banish that blush from his cheeks. He and his dirty mind, Harry shook his head. If Harry were five, he'd be begging someone to scour his brain with acid, or perhaps a nice pickling solution. 

But what he needed right now was his perfectly functioning—albeit tainted—brain and he needed to…

"PAY ATTENTION!"

Harry jolted, his green eyes startled and his jaw firmly closed as he stared at his boss. Foreign had never yelled at him before. Sure, he had yelled but really yelled, no. Foreign had never before lost his temper at one of his aurors, he had never actually yelled at them with menace lacing his voice and Merlin, Harry was confusing himself. But he knew something was wrong—very wrong. Not only had Dillon all but admitted that Harry's death was not as far fetched an idea as he would have liked. He'd been completely and utterly serious about Harry and Hermione settling their affairs before they left that very afternoon for wherever Malfoy was taking them.

It was obvious from Dillon's demeanor that he was stretched a bit too far, and it was evident that he was none too happy about the mornings proceedings. He gazed at Harry, sympathy evident in his eyes.

"I've already assigned people to your case. You might be under Mr. Malfoy's control, but I have no intention of leaving you or Hermione there, Harry."

"Who did you give it to?" Harry asked, his composure finally making an appearance.

Dillon tried not to grimace. "Colhurt and Murbrew."

"Why not Sloan?" He watched Foreign's brows rise impressively. "What? Last I checked he wasn't under any good for nothing binding contract."

"He's not." Dillon said slowly. "But he's otherwise detained."

Well, that most defiantly had an underlying implication of back the fuck off if I've ever heard one, Harry thought.

"Colhurt may be new, but he is most definitely not stupid and Murbrew is…well, Murbrew." Dillon shrugged. "He's rather good at…"

Harry grimaced. "Yes, Merlin, yes, I know."

Dillon chuckled, but didn't say more on the subject. "The contract you signed with Malfoy is binding until he decides the terms have been met. However…"

"You're willing to play dirty when the threat is extinguished." Harry asked, green eyes watching the older man shrewdly. Dillon nodded and Harry smirked. "So…you didn't sell us out to Malfoy?"

Dillon sputtered, his skin becoming splotched before he lowered trained eyes onto Harry's. "You and I both know that I do not take bribes." He challenged Harry to say different, but the raven-haired man only nodded his head.

"I had to ask."

"As any well trained auror would."

"And you reacted as any falsely accused individual should." Harry stated dryly as he stood. "I've got an inkling that my time here is coming to an abrupt end." His eyes lingered on the clock, which to his misfortune was cheerfully informing him that the time was indeed ten to twelve.

Dillon's teeth worked against each other as he kept his jaw tightly shut. He wasn't allowed…

Coughing briefly, he stood, gained his lost composure and turned to his auror, hand outstretched.

"We'll be seeing you and Hermione soon."

Extending his hand, Harry nodded. "I have no doubt." He released the hand and turned, he only had a few precious moments left before his life would be inevitably turned upside down and he had no wish to spend them in the office of Dillon Foreign—no matter how much he respected the man.

Dillon watched the poor man leave, and wondered if Harry would want to come back after it all unfolded. He sighed heavily. "I doubt it Harry, I don't even think you have a clue what you've unwittingly gotten yourself into."

Hermione smiled as Harry entered their office for the last time. "How did the talk go?"

"He put Colhurt and Murbrew on it. They're going to be leads on the 'who's threatening Malfoy this time' case." Harry groaned as he settled into his oh-so-comfy chair. Merlin was he going to miss this!

"Colhurt and Murbrew!" Hermione exclaimed. "Why not Sloan? Why not Kingsley? Why not Berry and Fizz?"

Eyes closed and face relaxed Harry could only mentally roll his eyes and offer Hermione an uncaring shrug. "Because he gave it to Colhurt and Murbrew."

He heard her sigh and the soft shuffle as she moved closer to him. A moment later, he found himself with a lapful of Hermione. She laid her head tiredly on his shoulder and let out an exhausted breath.

"If I'd known this was going to be what greeted me at work today, I think I'd have stayed in bed." Hermione muttered into Harry's neck.

He chuckled, wrapping arms languidly around his friend, allowing her to relax against him fully—without fear of toppling out of the chair.

"Mm…think of it, you could still be curled up next to your future hubby."  
Hermione groaned, and Harry felt her begin to lift a hand to smack him lightly on the chest. "I swear, one of these days…" she trailed off, no real venom in her voice.

"Poor baby." Harry felt her lips curl up into a smile and closed his eyes. "Do you think you should tell him?"

"How I practically belong to Malfoy?" Hermione asked and got her answer as she felt Harry nod.

"Yeah."

She shifted, bringing one hand to play in Harry's dark hair. "Well, I probably should. But you know he'll probably have a fucking fit…it is Malfoy after all."

"Do you think we'll ever find someone who he hasn't pissed off and wouldn't stab him in the back given a chance?"

"Unlikely Harry." Hermione grinned as she met with sparkling green eyes. "Very unlikely." She wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders. "I'll tell him."

Harry rested his chin on Hermione's head as he cradled her to his chest. "I don't think you have to worry. I got the feeling he plans on sticking."

"'Bout time someone did." Hermione muttered, this time there was resentment in her voice, despite her effort to keep her mood light—it darkened significantly.

Harry tightened his grip on her. "Hey! I'm offended. I'd say I've stuck pretty damn close."

"Ha ha, Harry. You know what I mean." Harry made a noncommittal sound. "Oh hush, I love you, you big idiot."

Neither of them noticed the door to their office open, nor had they noticed the change in atmosphere. It seemed a sudden rain cloud had formed and was hovering menacingly above a certain brooding white-blond head.

"Now isn't this just too cute." Malfoy smirked as the aurors jumped, his eyes narrowed slightly as Potter's arms tightened around the woman on his lap…and her own around Potter's shoulders. He took in the scene as he rested his back against the doorjamb. Potter was slumped in the black chair, head resting against Grangers. His black locks had to be trimmed. Draco tucked the information away for later use. He wasn't about to have someone who sported a ruffian-motif around his children. Potter would need to be groomed beforehand. Granger, on the other hand, had grown up it seemed and—besides her current position on Potter's lap—looked professional enough, and womanly enough. She wouldn't be near as much work in the looks department, he decided. But she'd have to get the hell off Potter's lap! And take her arms from around him, and to stop resting her head on his goddamn chest! That would not do at all. Not. At. All.

"Malfoy." Hermione groaned as she buried her face in Harry's neck. "It's not yet noon, go away."

Harry brought his hand to Hermione's shoulder, giving it a tight and reassuring squeeze. He felt her tension, tension he knew was mirrored in every tendon of his own body. He really didn't know if he was ready to do this. What were the consequences of refusing the contract he'd signed? Maybe he should consider them. Maybe…

"Au contraire Granger. In approximately fifteen seconds, it will be midday. I do hope you two are ready. I am not hanging around this," Draco's nose wrinkled in distaste, "hovel any longer than necessary."

Granger was muttering something that was most likely unpleasant and starring him, but Draco didn't care. And he definitely did not care for Potter's obvious amusement at whatever the idiot woman had said.

"Get your asses out of that chair, pick up those sordid excuses of luggage and follow me." His children were most likely awake now. He knew it was wrong to indulge them—it was unfit of Malfoy's to squander the day away, but it was easier to do what he'd had to do this morning without the chaos his children would have caused. Sneaking out of his own home, Draco shuddered, Merlin had he sunk so low? He glanced behind him, pleased to see a trailing Potter and Granger. Yes, he obviously had.

Foreign was out of his office, Draco was grateful. He didn't need any more delays. It had taken him too long to connect his fireplace temporarily—oh so temporarily—to the man's office, and now he was more than ready to just get home.

"You first Granger. Fist full of floo powder into the fire and 'penitence'."

"I know how to use the fucking floo network Malfoy!" Hermione retorted scathingly and felt Harry's free hand calmly splay against her back.

"Mione…" Harry said softly, but Malfoy cut him off.

"We'll have to work on that language of yours Granger." Cold gray eyes met with angry brown. "Do not use such foul words around my children."

Harry kept his hand firmly against Hermione's back sending the slightest tendril of magic out to touch her, calm her, remind her.

Hermione's lips were parted and Harry could see the numerous retorts bubbling up, fighting to get out. He increased the pressure and urged just a bit more magic through their connection. "Just go, Hermione."

He could see the hatred in her eyes, the gratefulness, the fear, and the blankness that never quite left. Ever. Harry sighed as she reluctantly grabbed a handful of powder and disappeared with "Penitence!"

He glanced up at Malfoy, whose eyes were set on him. Harry shuddered slightly. Malfoy had always creeped him out in the oddest ways. He had changed, yes, he'd grown and matured. Harry scoffed at his thoughts. Sure, Malfoy had taken on a few more inches in height, and sure, his hair was a bit longer and just as immaculately cared for, and yes he wore an impressive suite and his stance demanded respect…but had the ferret actually matured? Doubtful. Very doubtful, Harry blinked and waited. "Is there a reason we aren't following her through?" He asked finally.

Malfoy's eyes snapped to his and Harry caught the briefest glimpse of confusion before the mask was back in place.

"By all means Potter." Draco sneered. "Continue on."

Shaking his head, Harry swallowed his anger and his retorts. Malfoy was a prat, he reminded himself, just ignore him. He grabbed a fist full of powder and got the hell away from the blond—even if it was only for a few seconds.

He came out into a well-lit sitting room. To his left, Hermione was dusting her self off, eyes roaming the room. The curtains were drawn, Harry realized, and the morning light was pouring through with abandon. The couches were worn, he could tell, but still not what he would call comfortable.

With a small pop Malfoy appeared, he gave the two only a glance before his eyes drifted to the ceiling. A loud crash was heard and then a thump. Harry watched Malfoy intently and was a bit thrown by the love he saw briefly.

"Stay here."

Like they had anywhere else to go? Harry thought, still a bit miffed at the possibility that a Malfoy could feel such a complex emotion as love. He sat down on the squishy couch and patted for Hermione to join him.

"This isn't Malfoy Manor." Hermione mumbled.

"Yeah, I noticed that too."

"Any clue exactly where we are?"

Harry glanced out the window, there was a back yard fenced off by a rather ominous looking forest. "We could be on an estate…somewhere, or we could be in the middle of nowhere…somewhere." He said finally, crooked grin overtaking his features.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Captain Obvious strikes yet again."

"Well, I really don't have a clue. I'm sure, after we get the chance to look around and such, we'll be able to get our bearings."

Hermione nodded. "Though exact location will most likely be unplottable."

"If the wards are anything like those on the Manor, then yes. But…"

"He seems different somehow. Have you noticed?"

Harry nodded only slightly. There were so many things that were different about the blond, he really couldn't pinpoint exactly which she was talking about.

There were steps; a thundering of elephants, and Harry grimaced as Draco walked back into the room, followed by his children.

"Children, this is Ms. Granger, and Mr. Potter."

A single glance at the blond brigade had Hermione peering at Harry, eyebrows raised, did he notice? Harry nodded, yes he very much did.

All of them eyed the two aurors with interest, but remained silent.

"Well, now that the introductions are done. Why don't you go to the kitchen."

Why exactly Malfoy wanted his children in the kitchen, Harry didn't know, but the mini-Malfoys obeyed and in a blink were gone from sight.

Hermione grimaced as Malfoy smirked at them both. "Sweet kids, don't you think Potter?"

"If they are what you say they are." Hermione said through clenched teeth. He was bating Harry and they hadn't even been in the house for ten minutes!

"Anything to add, Potter?" Draco asked, ignoring the seething woman standing next to the raven-haired man.

Harry lowered a guarded gaze on the other man. "I have nothing to say."

Draco nodded. "Then you wouldn't mind taking yours and Ms. Grangers luggage up to your respective rooms, now would you?" He wasn't asking, and Harry really didn't care. He'd take anything thrown his way as long as he didn't need to be in Malfoy's presence any longer than necessary.

"Here, 'Mione." Harry took her suitcase and brushed his lips lightly against her cheek. "Don't let him get to you." He whispered softly.

Neither noticed that rain cloud as it made its stormy return.

Draco had to turn away from the disgusting display of affection. "Up the stairs, to your left Potter. Granger's room is the third and yours is the fifth. Try not to get lost."

Rolling his eyes as he passed the blond Harry gave into the urge to mock the man. God, if only he could get lost, he thought blissfully as he ascended the stairs.

Hermione tried not to bolt up after Harry. How was she going to survive this—she could barely…no she wouldn't think on this. Malfoy would not get the best of her. She would do her job. She would protect his children…

But she needed answers first.

"Ask away, Granger." Draco said softly as he lowered himself into a high backed chair.

Hermione's eyes shot to him. "How do you know I've anything to ask?"

Draco smirked. "Call it a mother's intuition if you will."

This sent a shiver down her spine. God, Malfoy a mother…that was disturbing to say the least.

Her eyes narrowed, she'd rather do this with Harry present. But…Malfoy had sent him away first chance he'd gotten. Why? "I don't think, Malfoy that you lying to Harry and I…" she paused, "and the ministry, was the best way to start off."

"Whatever could you mean?"

Hermione grimaced. Where had all her training gone? Why did she feel like she was back at Hogwarts, a defenseless first year? Suck it up! Hermione yelled at herself. There, she thought whilst taking a deep and calming breath. This couldn't be that hard. Just get yourself under control and deal with the situation at hand. That was easy enough, she decided, as the situation did intrigue her. Lowering her intelligent brown eyes to meet sly silver ones, Hermione spoke.

"Pray tell, Malfoy, why your children are under a glamour?"


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

**Damn Them All to Hell**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

Draco smirked, his hands folded comfortably in his lap. "I'm surprised you noticed."

"Don't give me that shit. You knew Harry and I would both notice the moment we saw the children."

"But you did see them before—from the photos I gave the ministry for their files—did you not?"

Um, actually Malfoy, I incinerated that file because I'm magically unstable and you pissed me off. "One cannot tell from a photo if a glamour is or isn't being used. But, in person, Malfoy, you knew, you knew that Harry and I would notice."

"Perhaps I did." Draco nodded agreeably.

"Why?"

"I'd think the answer obvious Granger."

Breathe. Hermione swallowed the heated wrath of retribution she wished so longingly to rain on that arrogant blond head. Her words and thoughts were not her own in times like these. They belonged to her, in a sense. But in all actuality, they were not Hermione's own. And she fought them. Fought them with all she had. It was only a meager accomplishment to finally put them at bay—but for her…for her, it was a beating of the Goliath-like monster within her.

She was here to perform a task, a job. Not a job of her choosing, yet one she fully intended to carry out. The only problem with the entire thing was a one named entity sitting across from her. Hermione groaned and kicked herself for not thinking objectively.

His children were under a glamour…and a well constructed one at that. The magic behind it was carefully crafted not to catch one's eye and the tails and ends of it were tucked away so that no magical tags were left to be read. Hermione was sure that no one short of trained aurors would notice.

And as she considered herself one of those trained aurors, she knew that even she had barely—yet still had—detected the faint shimmer that foretold the magical signature of a glamour. It had been so faint, so weak and soft that one would dismiss it, if they had noticed it. Which, Hermione patted herself on the back, was the whole point.

Malfoy was most likely using a glamour saturated with disillusionment and distraction charms. In fact, Hermione believed that the glamour was most likely nothing more than the largest of all distractions. The children all looked alike, identical mirrors of pale skin and non-descript blond hair. They were…indistinguishable…just a mass of blinking wide eyes and laughing faces. In a crowd, how could you pick out how many there were? One, five, seven, three? You would never, never know.

"It is for their protection." She muttered as the noise of crashing dishes reached her ears and sufficiently roused her from her inner diatribe. "Are you going to check on them?"

"Yes to the first, and no to the second." Though Draco was anything but ignorant to what was going on, or unconcerned. His ears were tuned directly to the goings-on in the kitchen. "My children are not helpless and they have been taught the proper way to dispose of spilt china."

"No house elves?"

The man's gray eyes hardened. "Granger. You of all people should realize that when you associate with people who could very well be murdered any second of the day—when that imminent death looms over you relentlessly—you don't take risks."

"House elves are risks?"

"We are not talking of house elves." Draco sneered at her coldly, his eyes sweeping over the auror, knowing that his constant assessments had put her on edge. That is where he wanted her. "I wonder if I've made a mistake. It is possible you were more than just simply bruised by the war." He leaned forward. "Are you…damaged?" More so than you let on, he added to himself. Only Merlin knew the full extent of the fall of Hermione Granger. Scratch that. Only Merlin and Harry fuckable Potter knew the full extent of Granger's fall from grace. And sanity.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. How could that man sleep at night! Questioning her stability when his own was so sorely lacking. It was pathetic, and aimed to rile, but Hermione couldn't help the empty part of her from emerging—pressing longingly against the restraints that only time, time and friendship…and the hope of love (someday) had constructed. "Don't push me." A perfect impression of an emotionless and uncaring woman sat in her place. It was a comfort that some things never stopped coming to your aid. Through the deep and thick of it all. Some things…some things were always there to back you up.

"And I won't." Draco's lips twitched in amusement as her eyes registered surprise. "Unless also pushed. Do you understand?" He held up a hand to keep her answer at bay. "I could," he pressed this "I could ruin you both. I want you to know right now that I will ruin you both. I have no qualms and I will take no chances with the lives of my children. Or my own. You do one thing, you stick your wand one inch out of line or point it in matters that do not concern you and—"

"And what, you pathetic excuse of a man?"

His smile was anything but pleasant. Draco shifted slightly in the chair, crossing his ankles as he relaxed. He was in his element, this was his time. Control. This was something he could and would control. "Mr. Shower was kind enough to give me both yours and Mr. Potter's records. I've also had access to the ministry files on you both…as well as a few private contacts that have reported in."

A bead of sweat traveled down her spine, slowly blazing a tantalizing trail against her anger-heated skin. Years of training held back the trembles. Her own resolve kept her from leaping to her feet and strangling the man. Thoughts of dark nothingness kept her magic caged—if ever so barely—behind walls constructed of fear.

The blond nodded, his eyes dead to his own feelings. "We are in understanding then." The pause was unnecessary. He was daring her, daring her to press at his authority—to challenge.

Hermione ground her teeth, eyes flickering quickly to the stairs. Oh, those stairs! A pathway to heaven, a retreat from the conflicting onslaught of emotions best not felt as deeply as she felt them, a place where she could curl up and know that someone would comfort her.

Those damnable stairs were so far away, beckoning though they knew she couldn't reach them. Yet.

Life sure seemed to find it fit to parade a past of fire and hate and destruction before her—relentless and remorseless. Quite like a blond she knew too well and knew not at all.

Indefinitely…

Her contract with Malfoy was undefined by time or the constraints she'd come to rely upon in her profession and daily life. She wasn't her own person, she knew this and the anger the knowledge invoked was frightening. She'd worked so hard…so hard. What the hell had she done to deserve this? Her head dropped into her waiting hands.

She couldn't possibly look any longer at the thing proclaiming himself a man. He was too cold, too emotionless, too heartless. He was less than stone—stones at least had the decency of staying dead and cold and heartless. Malfoy moved, he conversed, and…good Merlin, he reproduced. No, even a stone was more man than Malfoy. Malfoy was indefinable. Hermione was sure that even those sent to the fiery pits where all things evil go had more place than Malfoy—they were at least something.

He was nothing.

Slowly, ever so slowly did she bring her now shielded brown eyes up to meet those mercury orbs. "You have such a way with words Malfoy. And as such, I feel I am left with no choice but to understand and follow."

So Granger knew how to follow orders. Impressed, Draco allowed a bit of emotion to play across his face. It was fleeting he knew, but that didn't matter. She'd seen it, and the shock he'd been waiting for was not found in those brown eyes. He was very pleased. "My children wear the glamours religiously. No one, save myself, has seen them without it. Ever."

This concerned her. This was her job, Hermione reminded herself, snapping from her defense mode to that of an auror. "The threats against them?"

Draco nodded, blond hair whisked behind his ear by an impatient hand, as he continued, "Since their birth. Thus, the glamours have remained. They are a necessity. I do not want my children bound to a house, bound by fear of the outdoors, or by a fear of crowds."

She nodded her understanding. "I'm assuming then, that your children do leave the house…often?"

"As often as is necessary." Draco said shortly as he listened carefully to muffled steps above his head.

"And the glamours themselves?"

Impassive pools of gray surveyed her once more. "They are all blond, blue-eyed, and fair skinned in appearance—two male and two female…when people see them, they don't wonder if the child is a Malfoy. They instead wonder if maybe they should get a better nights rest. Hadn't that boy walked inside the store only moments before? Hadn't he said his name was Damien? Oh well, they must be mistaken." Draco said calmly. "He calls himself Dorian. They must have misheard; of course, the sweet boy is named Dorian. Where in the world did they come up with Damien? And so on and so forth."

"I get it Malfoy. You're a crafty bastard."

Draco cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "So I am."

"And, your children are able to function outside these walls. Seems to be working well enough. Why the need to bring in Harry and myself?"

"It was working well." Draco's fingers clenched tightly at the fabric of his trousers. "But the glamours are not enough any longer." He heard the laughter of his children. Merlin, he hoped the kitchen was surviving the attack it was currently under. Damien wasn't much of a cook…but the youngster insisted otherwise. And from the commotion he'd been hearing during this oh-so-not- interesting—yet necessary—conversation with Granger, hinted that the boy had decided to make them all lunch. It was going to be a long day. They were, as all children can be, monsters…especially when left unattended.

His orderly world was going to be in a state of chaos until Potter and Granger could learn the routine. Draco cringed inwardly. He wasn't going to enjoy this little hiccup in his life. "The reason…" He reconsidered his words. "The foremost reason for your presence here is because…" The Devil be damned, only but having to talk of the incident sent razor sharp shards deep into a place inside his chest he'd never once imagined existed. Before the children, that is. They had been the reason he'd finally realized that the thumping in his chest served another purpose—one that was easier bruised and beaten and left to rot. "Because my youngest, Sri, was…" he swallowed hard. "She was more than threatened by venomous mail."

Observant coffee eyes wandered over him. Cataloging the way the pulse in his neck quickened, the sheer sheen of sweat across his skin, the way his fingers clutched at his legs—the fabric was sure to be wrinkled. His eyes were no longer pools of emotionless gray, but filled with an inexplicable hurt.

Hermione felt the emptiness in her stomach clench. It filled spaces that were forever empty. God, how could she, after everything, still feel anything! How could Malfoy be the one to share her pain?

"Sri?"

Unclenching his fingers, Draco tried to smooth the fabric with lightly shaking fingers. It was a futile motion and he stopped, his hands falling dead at his sides. "You'd know her as Draconilla."

Oh! Thank the moon and stars he hadn't really named his children such hideous names. "You will be telling us their real names then, won't you?"

"Of course."

"And releasing them of the glamour?"

"Soon. They don't like to wear them about the house."

The conversation, she could tell, was more or less over. He wanted to go to the kitchen. She could almost see the itch-like pull it had on him. Would he, when he entered, softly run his hands over their heads and cup their faces—reassuring himself that they were safe? Would he scold them for the racket, and most likely mess, that they had caused? What was he like with them? Certainly not the cold-hearted bastard he was when with old school rivals.

Hermione let out a loud breath as she relaxed ever so slightly. That was something she'd have to work on—relaxing in her new home. She might not have the most healthy of habits, or of past experiences, but…she had learned from them. They had taught her that a high state of alertness did more than trigger stress to double—it broke you down little by little until you lost everything.

Relax…how easy the word was said in one's mind. How difficult to obey. Hermione forcibly leaned casually into the cushion behind her. Get used to this, you're not going anywhere.

"There is one more thing I want to request of you. And Potter." Draco added. "Before you make your way to your room and unpack."

Hermione stood—or more like sprung—from the couch, her eyes flitting to the stairs. Her savior. "What would that be, Malfoy? Don't smoke in the bathrooms?"

He smiled tiredly. "Call me Draco."

"Harry. I think Malfoy gave you your own room." Hermione mumbled, a much-needed smile gracing her face as she observed her friend.

He'd apparently taken the liberty of trying out her new bed and was lying on his back, head supported by folded arms. He didn't so much as offer a 'hi, how are you?' but an indifferent shrug was roused from his still form. Hermione reached down and removed the black heeled pumps she'd been stupid enough to wear to work that day, before sitting down beside him.

"How'd the talk with Malfoy go?"

"Draco."

Harry's eyes opened lazily and he focused the surprised green orbs on the woman leaning over him. "Err, come again. I think I might have something stuck in my ear. I could have sworn I heard you call the ferret…something odd."

"His given name, you twit!" Hermione laughed as she brushed her hand lovingly through his ebony strands.

"Ah. He has one of those?"

"Oh shut up. Sometimes…" He waited for her to continue with an amused smirk. "Sometimes, I could swear you haven't aged a bit since seventeen. Haven't you grown?"

"In ways." Harry muttered, knowing Hermione would take that as she wanted. She smacked him lightly on the chest.

"As I was saying. Draco has requested that we call him…Draco."

"And…"

"Oh, you know. He's using not-so-empty threats to keep us in line. I'm sure he'd give you a detailed synopsis of them—or you could just take my word that it would be unpleasant by far."

"At least there is something I can always rely on. Malfoy and threats, chocolates and roses."

"They do seem to go hand in hand, though I'd prefer the chocolates and roses to him any day."

"No kidding." Harry groaned as he stretched his back and sat up. "Which reminds me, are you going to tell your man any time soon?"

Hermione sighed, taking up the warm area Harry's body had abandoned on the bed. "I really don't think he'll take this well."

"It's your job, he has to understand that."

"But my job does not usually involve the only person he loathes more than his mother."

Harry sighed, gently stroking Hermione's soft curls, the pad of his thumb wiping away a stray tear. "Everyone loathes Malfoy, Hermione. He'll understand." He grimaced at the helplessness reflected in her tear-reddened eyes. "I won't say he won't be pissed as all hell. And I won't say he won't storm around causing a bunch of muck. But after a few days…I think he'll understand."

Hermione took a deep breath and pulled Harry's hand to her lips. She kissed it softly, thanking him for everything he was. "You are too kind."

"I know."

"And too cocky."

Harry pouted and was thrilled with the laugh he received.

"Tomorrow." Hermione whispered. "I'll tell him tomorrow." She shifted once more, so now her head rested against his thigh. She stared up at him, solemnly. "I'll be telling him tomorrow. But you'll be telling Ron all by your lonesome."

"Ugh. You leave me with the hard jobs. How bouts we switch, eh? I tell lover boy and you tell the globetrotter."

Hermione smirked; she loved when he left himself open to teasing. "I thought you liked the hard ones?"

Her head was instantly falling onto the bed with a thump and she squealed as a pillow was introduced wickedly to her stomach.

"You want to play rough, eh?" She grabbed for the remaining pillow and it was war.

Draco cringed, his face taking on an unpleasant pinch, as the sounds of something god-awful reached his ears. What the hell were those two doing? And it had better not be what he thought it was. There were children in this house for Merlin's sake! Didn't they have any decency? Besides…

"Daddy?" His youngest glanced up at him, her beautiful face full of worry. "What's wrong?"

"He's just moody he's missing all the fun upstairs."

Draco shot his oldest a glare. "And what would you know of that, Damien?"

"It's only a pillow fight, father." Said Damien's almost-twin.

The elder's eyebrows rose and he listened ever so intently to the screams and squeals and thumps above his head. That was a definite possibility—and it cancelled all his 'execute Granger' plans. He was only slightly disappointed to see them go.

"Are they going to see us?"

Draco redirected his attention to his daughter, hands reaching out to replace her wayward braids. "Of course."

"Are they…"

His children looked up at him expectantly. Then all eyes shot to the ceiling as two very earth-shaking thuds were heard.

What the hell?

Were they rolling around on the floor now?

"Father?"

Ah yes, best to pay attention to the little munchkins.

"Are they…"

"I heard you the first time, Dorian." Draco let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes. Now the squeals were coming from all around him and he found himself being attacked by four small bodies as they jumped and made a commotion he did not approve of.

"Enough." He said firmly, but not unkindly. "There is dinner to be made. Damien, go pull two chairs from the dining room set. Sri, why don't you be a good little girl and go to your room."

CRASH.

"Erm." Draco's hand shot out to grab his youngest as she began to rush off. "Never mind that darling. Just, stay down here." Where it's safe.

Unbidden, his eyes rose to the ceiling. They were almost as bad as ten children! And they were grown adults! Here he was feeling a little put out by four. Now he had the equivalent of fourteen beneath his roof. Merlin…what had he gotten himself into?

"I like them." The voice was soft, never raised above a whisper. Draco placed his free hand lovingly on his other daughters shoulder. Madison was always the calm during a storm…yet, somehow, also the calm before the storm.

"You don't know them yet."

"I can tell. They're good people."

Draco nodded. "They are."

"I'll make the salad."

His gray eyes sparkled. "Would you all like pasta for dinner?"

"No." Dorian scoffed. "If you looked in the cupboard, you'd see Damien already used up all the box pasta we had."

"Good lord!" Draco exclaimed as he inspected his son's claim. Hadn't he bought ten boxes last week? All were gone. "What was he doing?"

"Something about cooking the world's largest noodle?" Dorian shrugged. "He thought if he strung them all together with string, cooked them, then spelled some glue-charm…" His son trailed off. "Actually I haven't any idea what he was doing. I wasn't listening."

Draco smiled. "Then we'll have rice. He hasn't touched that has he?"

Three children shook their heads no.

"What about them?" Madison pointed one slender finger towards the ceiling.

Draco shrugged. The ruckus above their heads had not yet ended. "Just, uh, leave them there until we are ready for them down here."

He grabbed the rice and pots and pans and his wand. Madison gathered the ingredients for a salad. He reached above her head, bringing down the cutting board. Sri sat at the table, her ever-inquisitive eyes watching the chopping and stirring. Damien came back with the two chairs before scampering off to who knows where…and Dorian sat beside his sister and stared unblinkingly at the ceiling.

It was almost normal, Draco sighed. Almost as if there were not two aurors above his head, as if there were not two school rivals in his home, as if…

But that was all it was. It was only an 'as if'.

The crashing and banging continued. The squeals came more from Granger and the shrieks from Potter. He was pretty sure that the floor of the room was getting the workout of its life.

How was it they had remained so close, through it all? It hadn't been a piece of cake. There had been no icing at the end. There hadn't been any sunshine, or any reprieve. The war had been nasty in the worst of ways. The days had been a series of bland grays and the sun had refused to shine.

It had rained, an acid rain that shriveled once thriving plants to nothingness. Whole fields had become nothing more than sludge—a ginger brown muck and black paste of what was once meadows. It had covered you like a second skin. The stench—a sickly smell of putrid decay and ghastly rotting—mirrored that of the fields full of dead.

There hadn't been time to burn bodies.

There wouldn't have been air to breath if they had.

No time for burial.

No safe place, no place to hide, no place to get in out of the rain.

There had been no hope at all.

How had they survived?


	4. Chapter 4

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All to Hell

**Chapter Four**

**

* * *

**Damien Malfoy wasn't very good at being sneaky—in fact, his siblings would argue that his abilities to surprise another living creature rivaled his ability to cook, both endeavors ended in pathetic failure. But… 

That never stopped him. It took more than a little failure to deter Damien Vitale Malfoy. Oh, it took so much more than that. In fact, no one really knew what it took—as he'd yet to back down from anything…no matter how unpleasantly his plans collapsed around him. He was the kind of person who happily dug that hole, not caring that he could never climb back out, always knowing that one day he would reach China.

It was his father's fault really, that Damien believed he quite excelled in the business of sneaking about. Draco had, unfortunately, picked up a series of movies one night at the begging of his children. That evening, as they sat around the television, Draco had hidden his face behind one of the couches throw pillows while his eldest daughter complained loudly and his youngest agreed full heartedly with her in an eager bobbing of her head about the way the female characters were portrayed, Dorian had, in his oh-so-Dorian way, curled up to sleep (or pretend to, as his sisters continued to argue and poke at him to join) and Damien…well, Damien had been glued to the screen.

Draco had tried, in the subsequent days after, to pry Damien away from the flickering images on the screen. He'd failed—almost as miserably as Damien did during his bouts in the kitchen.

Unable to bring himself to forbid his son to watch, Draco had only to deal with the results. Damien Vitale Malfoy—or as he had petitioned to be called—Damien James Bond, the new double o seven agent, woman's man, and savior of the world.

It was a time of great misery for the Malfoy family.

Damien grinned, his teeth pressing gently into his bottom lip to keep from letting the happy laughter escape. This time his plan was going to work. Everyone was distracted; no one was paying any particular attention to him. This time…

His ears listened to the soft chatter between his sister and father. Madison was slowly working their father 'round to allowing them to visit an amusement park. That had been his and Dorian's birthday wish—after hearing two children talking excitedly about such a place while shopping for groceries—and they had begged and prodded Madison to help. She was the only one who could get their father to warm up to such things, while all the time thinking he was the one in control…that he was the one granting permission. When really, Madison gave it to him to give back to them.

He didn't really know how she did it. And he didn't care too much, if he got what he wanted in the end.

His grin widened and he swept his slightly ginger hair out of his eyes. He loved that this past month his father hadn't insisted it be cut. Of course, that might be because of all the things going on—he'd never seen his father so…strained might have been the word, but Damien wasn't sure.

He shook his head and focused on the mission. He made sure to keep track of where everyone was. Father, Madison, Dorian and Sri were all in the kitchen—which made this oh so much easier! And upstairs…

Amber eyes rose to the top of the stairs, he was almost there, three, four more steps and he'd be on the landing. But he needed to take this slow…the stairs were old and made so much noise!

He wasn't the best either, when it came to making little to no noise, not like Dorian. So, he took it slow, hoping that if he just took it little by little, he would make it to the top unnoticed.

"I hate when you put beans in the salad." Dorian muttered as his sister began to spoon some from an open can.

Madison didn't so much as blink. Instead, she set the spoon on the countertop and picked up the can turning it upside down.

Dorian narrowed his brown and blue speckled eyes as he watched those loathsome beans fall with a plunk into the salad bowl.

"Dorian."

Said boy knew that tone rather well, as it was one the blond man had used for as long as the boy could remember.

Those same brown-blue eyes rolled even as the face took on a semi-amused scowl. "Yes father?"

Draco didn't bother to turn round from his position at the stove. He simply waited. It didn't take long either, as he was sure his daughters were doing the dirty work for him. He chanced a quick glance at Madison. Yep, dirty work was being done as expected.

Having two girls stare you down can be quite disconcerting for any guy, really, and Dorian Lucius-Elior Malfoy was no exception. His shoulders tensed under Madison's steely-eyed glare, but guilt filled him (however much he protested the fact that there wasn't anything to feel guilty for) from the wide somber eyes of his less annoying sister.

"I do not hate beans, father." Damien said, not without some reluctance. "I simply dislike them in my salad."

"Very good." Draco couldn't help the large smile from taking up position on his face.

"But Madison did put an entire can in there!"

"Is that so?"

Damn it, his father could be infuriating. Dorian then had to apologize, almost automatically, to himself and promise never to use the word 'damn' again in his father's presence. Be it verbally or a passing thought.

"It's a Gazpacho salad, father, of course I'm putting beans in."

Draco glanced down…sure enough, the mixing bowl did indeed have beans in it. A great heap in the middle of the other dressings, he tried to maintain a blank face as he silently agreed with Dorian. He really should pay more attention to Madison when she was in the kitchen helping. While her cooking skills were far superior to those of Damien's, she was a bit too adventurous.

"Gazapo-what?" Dorian asked, an eyebrow rising elegantly.

Madison turned stony eyes to her brother. "Gazpacho, Dorian. Do you want me to spell it for you?"

"Don't start anything, Madison." Draco quipped, not paying a whole lot of attention as the silence above his head reined. What were they doing now? He almost preferred the noise, at least then he knew where they were, and could at least guess what they were doing. Silence…silence was not good.

Madison watched her father. He was more distracted now that he had those two under his roof than he was before, when he was planning how to get those two under his roof. His eyes kept flitting to the ceiling. He'd agreed without hardly any persuasion to letting them go to an amusement park, and he was not paying any attention to what she was doing. She had made a Gazpacho salad, knowing full well that Damien hated beans. This would, on a normal day, result in her father telling her to make a separate, less exotic salad for her older brother.

If that wasn't enough to make her more than a bit suspicious to her father's inability to concentrate, she'd made a Gazpacho salad. A salad that consisted of chopped tomatoes and sliced cucumbers, green peppers, celery, lima beans, onion and a bit of parley. Her father had given the bowl only a once over and he hadn't run from the room screaming. It was common knowledge of Draco's children that their father loathed green peppers. Seemed he'd had a misfortunate accident when one fell into a potion that…well, lets just say reacted violently to green peppers.

Who would have thought such an innocent little vegetable could create such mayhem?

But it illustrated how very distracted, worried, and concerned—among other things—her father was. She finished the dressing and poured just enough to start the salad to marinating.

"It needs to be chilled for an hour."

She watched his blond head tilt in acknowledgement. "That works out well." Draco turned from where he was idly stirring the contents of a pot. He could use magic…but he really didn't feel like it. This at least kept him somewhat occupied, and not free to…think. "Where's Damien?"

Where indeed, Dorian thought, his eyes closing, soft black lashes fluttering against his skin. He knew exactly what his brother was up to. Damien had one, no restraint, and two…he just couldn't wait until dinner.

Oh but he would.

Luck didn't seem to shine for the firstborn son of Draco Malfoy, and as luck would have it, Damien was caught, only two steps from his goal—the landing.

"Damien, what are you doing?"

"Err…going to my room father?" He tried a 'really, I'm telling the truth' grin.

His father's face was enough evidence for him to come to terms with the fact that he'd failed. Again.

"Well, I'm sure you had to go to your room Damien, but stay downstairs until after supper, would you?"

"But I haven't anything to do!" Damien protested, knowing full well that he was acting like a spoiled child…and that in turn, he would be treated as such. Which was never all that amusing, or fun, when it was all good and set.

Draco cocked one eyebrow—a gesture echoed by his son Dorian on occasion—and motioned for Damien to come down. Once the boy was by his side, looking up pleadingly into his eyes, Draco sighed. "You are to go sit in the family room, Damien, and you are to sit there and watch those shows of yours. You are not to leave the room, and you are not to do anything else. Do you understand?"

Now what child would take watching television as if it were a punishment? Damien Malfoy would, oh yes…being told to watch television and his favorite shows no less, was nothing less than pure torture.

"I'm sorry." He murmured as Draco ushered him into the family room.

"But now you have something to do. And you just love to watch these films."

Damien hung his head. "Thank you, father." He sighed heavily as he was left alone. Okay, so that didn't go so well…but now he could find out where he'd gone wrong—aside from being caught—and he could forge a new, and improved plan!

He inserted one of the disks into the player and sat back, a sly grin on his face, his eyes wide and bright as his mind formed and pieced together another plan already heading down that winding road of failure.

Draco glanced up the stairs as if he was walking to his death—or salvation. It really depended on how one was looking at it, and their current mental status. The light at the end of the hall on the second floor had been turned off. This created the void of darkness, as if he was indeed walking into his fate. Which was quite true when one stopped to think it all through .

But Draco didn't stop to think, he simply swallowed his unease.

The pounding headache of constant thought and worry and planning (plans that usually went considerably better than his sons) and stepped up to the door he knew led into the room he'd put Granger in. Potter hadn't gotten as far as his own, possibly dropping off his sorry excuse of luggage, but nothing more.

He paused, listening. The room was silent.

Silent.

His mind was a swarm of all the possibilities. Maybe they had done the world a favor and off'ed themselves…

Wait, no that was how he used to view them. They were much too precious now. They were too important. But his thought opened several lines of thought for Draco that were anything but pleasant.

What if one of them did try to 'off' themselves? That was…he knew it was a possibility, it could happen. Damn it, he should have thought of that before. Now he'd have to put up spells while they were eating, and mask them sufficiently. There was no way in hell they would be getting out of this in that fashion. He wouldn't allow it.

He performed a simple unlocking charm, his scowl in place—both there for appearance purposes as well as the fact he'd put himself in a right foul mood—and opened the door, silently stepping into the room.

Well then, Draco concluded as he quickly stepped back out of the room and closed the door as quietly as possible. He needed to regain his composure. Composure that had never in the past failed him, had indeed failed upon entrance. Thank Merlin no one but he had witnessed it.

The rolling, the screams, the screeches, the giggling, the thumps, the clatter…everything, all of that had resulted in…

Let's just say that his children hadn't cleaned the room up to par. When he'd told them to straighten up the rooms and make them presentable. He had meant for a bit of dusting to be done.

Apparently, his children had either ignored that part, or simply neglected to comply. He was going with the latter, after all, they hadn't been so gung-ho about having the cleaning dumped upon their shoulders while Draco locked himself in his study to brood and plan.

He swallowed tightly, straightening his shoulders as he opened the door and stepped into the room.

It hadn't been dusted before, but now, it was quite sufficiently dust free—if one could call it dust free. Instead of the dust laying about on the floor, collecting, well, err, dust, it was now, proudly coating two very dirty ex-Gryffindors.

The sight gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'dust bunny'.

They were on the bed—covered in dust and ON THE BED! Did they grow up in an alley! Draco shivered and made another note on his growing list to clean those sheets, and clean them the muggle way at that. He paused in his mental writing, and quickly scratched that. They would be cleaning them, cleaning them the muggle way. Draco felt like skipping.

He did not indulge in this whim however. Instead, he considered the best way to wake them, without causing the dust to rouse and fill the air, tickling his delicate nose and making him miserable for the rest of the night. Not that he wouldn't already be miserable mind you—having those two at his table would be a most stressful event. Thank the gods he'd though ahead enough to brew two batches of stress relieving potion. He was going to need it, and what he didn't use, he was pretty sure, would be spent on calming down Granger and Potter.

And they would be needing the calm-inducing potions. He was absolutely sure of this. He'd bet his entire life savings, his house, and his sanity, on it. They would be needing it, and needing it sooner than he would ever like to admit.

Harry was curled at the head of the bed, his body almost parallel with the foot of the bed. Granger it seemed, liked to use her friend as a handy dandy pillow, her head rested on his side, her face towards the ceiling. Both their eyes were closed, their breathing even, and their bodies a mesh gray.

They were silent and still. Two traits he'd never associated with either of them. They were moving and curious, always tapping, or walking or twitching—they were never silent and still.

They almost personified death, with their somber faces and barely rising chests. The dust gave them that dead-like coloring that sent shivers of unease down Draco's back and brought panic to the surface—panic that was never truly buried.

And then they were moving. Draco let out an audible sigh and was suddenly staring into one open and very green eye.

"Sorry to wake you." He said graciously, his hosting skills taking over. The surprise that surfaced in that single brilliant green eye had him kicking himself in the shins. Mentally of course, it would not due to bruise his delicate skin.

"Err…"

"Intelligent response, I assure you. But I wanted to inform you that dinner is ready. You'll be eating with us and…"

"And the glamours?"

When did she wake up? Oh well, now he wouldn't have to repeat himself. "Yes, as I told you before, Granger, they aren't partial to wearing them inside the house. They have been removed. As I was telling Potter, you are eating with us. I just wanted to warn you."

"Warn us that we'd be eating with you?" Harry asked, his head still a bit stuffy, and he was pretty sure it wasn't only from the sleep. He felt…icky.

"When are you ever going to learn to let people finish before you barge forward, Potter?"

"Oh don't even try, Malfoy. Harry will always charge forward blindly. I've spent too many years trying to change that. You think you could change it?"

Draco turned steely gray eyes on the woman leaning against the ebony-haired man. He took that as a personal challenge. "I was simply asking Granger. You needn't get so snippy."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but Harry's hand found that mouth a convenient place to attach itself. Her eyes moved to glower at her best friend.

"You were saying, Malfoy?"

"Draco. And I was just going to warn you that I want the conversation at dinner to remain…appropriate. Do you understand?"

This time, when Harry opened his mouth to reply, he was distracted by a wet tongue licking the length of his palm. "EW! Gross! Hermione, that is disgusting!" Harry cried, removing his hand at lighting speed and wiping it on Hermione's blouse.

"Ew yourself!" Hermione said, her face screwed up in distaste. "Haven't you ever heard of washing your hands Harry? God you taste awful."

Draco's jaw tightened of its own accord. But his thoughts also betrayed him. Why the hell did Granger taste him! Did she do it often? Why were they touching each other? No, they couldn't lean against one another that way! WHAT DID SHE THINK SHE WAS DOING?

Oh, that forced him to think of things that brought back his immediate 'Execute Granger' plans…maybe this time, he'd get to see them in action. He was already mentally arranging the sharpened knives and…ahem…oh sweet mercy help him, he needed to get out more.

"I do wash them." Harry protested as she scrambled to bring her hand near his mouth.

"Oh really? Well do you want to know what yours tastes like then?"

Draco had a bit too much of a runaway imagination, and he felt anger and panic, mostly panic, glue him to the spot where he stood. What was she doing? Was she going to do what he thought she was going to do? It looked like she was! He couldn't, wouldn't let that happen! But he couldn't command his stunned muscles to move. Oh god, he was going to be sick.

Granger was leaning over Harry her hands on either side of his face, her own so very close.

OH FUCK NO, SHE WAS NOT GOING TO KISS HIM!

But then, before he could move, before he could think to move (even though that was all he had been able to think for the past moments), Hermione, with seeker-quick reflexes shoved Harry's idle and surprised hand into his mouth. She'd timed it perfectly, as he'd been opening it to tell her just what he would like to taste…

And no, he did not want to taste her. He had something else on his mind, so please get your mind out of the gutter. Harry may be a self-admitted perv, and Hermione might let him indulge in his perv-ish ways…but they never included the brown haired woman. Nothing past teasing, by any account.

And they were both sticking strongly to that story.

Harry gagged, wrenching his hand out of his mouth and flipping, pinning his friend beneath him. "That was completely uncalled for. You are in big trouble! I never told you to stick your tongue to my hand in the first place!"

"Aww…"

Hermione and Harry stopped dead, looking up, remembering that the blond, their employer and by all accounts, master, was still in the room. You could almost see the child-like happiness they had been feeling leach from their bodies. A silent, yet audible, sigh filled the room.

"Sorry." Harry mumbled—to Hermione—as he climbed off her. They both sat up, looking much like chastised children.

Draco had seen such a look when he'd caught Sri trying to sneak cookies up to her brother. She really was too obedient—and that was where the trouble had begun—and her brothers took advantage of this. For anyone, and especially those she loved and trusted, Sri would do anything. Even try to sneak five peanut butter cookies to her grounded brother.

"Do you two have some secret fling going on?" Draco asked, keeping his voice in the realm of mocking when all he really wanted to do was strangle them both with his bare hands.

"NO!" Came the almost disgusted cry…from them both.

Draco eyed them with suspicion. "You can't seem to keep your hands off each other, let alone off each other bodily."

"It's called affection, Malfoy. Have you ever heard of such a thing?" Harry grumbled, glaring at the blond.

Draco sneered. "Care to share your affections then, Harry?"

Hermione blushed madly, but Harry merely leaned back comfortably, his eyes sparkling with mischief, his body radiating sexual allure in his every move. "Is that an offer, Draco?"

Ahem…Draco swallowed and looked away from those piercing green eyes. He wasn't quite ready to confront the man. But said challenge had been dually noted. Draco looked back up, smirking. "Another time there, Harry. Don't jump the gun just yet. Sleeping with your boss isn't going to make life easier on you."

Harry shrugged, seemingly disinterested.

"Now, dinner will be ready shortly. If you two could do us all a favor and shower—separately—before coming downstairs, I'm sure the children would appreciate it."

"Aye aye captain!" Harry said cheerfully, shocking Draco into a pause as he walked from the room.

"Odd. Decisively odd." Was all Harry could catch as the blond left, the door shutting quietly behind him.

"We really are in need of a shower, Harry." Hermione commented as she looked at her gray companion.

"Yeah. I noticed already. I feel…really disgusting to tell you the truth." He swallowed and lowered his guard. His eyes lost their glimmer, his body slumped and his skin beneath coating of dust turned an unhealthy shade.

Hermione sent him a sympathetic look. "You first…I know how, how, yeah…you know what I'm trying to say. I can wait."

"Thanks." Harry got up and walked to the bathroom, he turned and smiled at Hermione crookedly. "You sure you won't join me?"

"I know of several men who would kill me…and one who would kill you, if I accepted that offer."

Harry shrugged, laughing as he closed the door. "Your loss!" He shouted.

Hermione shook her head as she surveyed the room. She heard the water begin to run and slowly slumped against the bed. This was a game, a game she didn't know the rules to. She didn't know how to end it. She didn't know where the end was. She didn't even know if it had started.

All she and Harry could do was play as they always had—and play to survive. Winning wasn't the point for them, it wasn't an option, or something to strive for. All that mattered was living to play it again, living to hide.

Harry always had some form of a glamour on him, one of the reasons he'd noticed, probably even before she did, that the Malfoy children were under one. He hid from the world behind layers, both masking his physical appearance and his emotional state. He let them down, dampened them, and renewed them endlessly.

All of it was done for the game, when it was needed.

All of it was done so that he could survive.

So that they could survive. It would be a final blow, she knew, if either of them finally succumbed to the dark that constantly called them.

She rubbed her hand tiredly over her brow. They could sleep a hundred years and wake tired. What was worse, she knew that if they were given the opportunity, they would sleep a hundred years…and never dream of waking.

The bathroom door opened and Harry, his hair dripping, walked out. "You're turn." He said saucily.

Hermione stood, ignoring the man as they went their separate ways—she to the bathroom and he to his own room.

"Are we missing anything, daddy?" Sri asked, her wide gray eyes—a perfect replica, in color, of Draco's—peered up at him.

Draco ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Well, let's run over it one more time, just to be sure."

"Okay." The little girl ran over to the table. "One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven!" she concluded happily, her little hand still on the last chair she'd counted.

"Good. So we have all the chairs. And Dorian set the table."

"And I poured the drinks." Madison added. Her father was, in one word, a mess. "Sri dusted the chairs…again." Her eyes gleamed and Draco had the decency to look sheepish. He'd been a bit…well dusting had been on his mind when he'd come back downstairs.

"Thank you, Madison. And you too, Sri. I know you guys can tell I'm not…feeling so well."

"I believe the word is apprehension, father."

Draco caught sight of his son and nodded. "Yes, that is quite right. I'm sorry."

"There is no reason to say sorry, daddy." Sri hugged her father her little arms reaching up and Draco complied, lifting her and cradling her against his chest. She was so precious. They all were. What he would do if he lost one was no joking matter. He'd be a loose cannon. He'd be more than that though, an unbound and angry hippogriff perhaps.

"When are they coming down?" Madison asked.

"Soon."

"Do we have to…watch what we say?" Dorian asked.

Draco tried not to grimace. "Within reason. I trust you to decide what that is."

Dorian grinned, his blue eyes shining with delight.

"Should I go fetch Damien?"

"Leave him."

"Hush, Dorian. Yes, Madison, go get your brother. Make sure he's washed his hands."

Madison left with a small nod.

"Where are we going to sit?"

Draco's eyebrow rose delicately as he put Sri down, she rushed to her spot, the seat she always sat in and pointed. "I sit here!" she declared.

Draco laughed. "We'll be sitting in our normal arrangement, Dorian. Unless you'd rather sit elsewhere?"

Dorian shook his head.

"Good then that is settled." Draco removed himself from the dining room, walking into the kitchen and checking to make sure everything was indeed ready. He opened the fridge to remove the salad.

The bowl was a mesh of beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, and…

"MADISON!"


	5. Chapter 5

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All to Hell

**Chapter Five**

* * *

The sounds reaching their tuned ears were those of soft, hesitant, footsteps descending the old stairs. The children's breaths quickened and hearts fluttered, after all, not only were these two strangers the first to ever step foot in their home…but each had a hope they dared not speak—a hope that these two strangers were not strangers at all, but a very precious missing piece. 

Draco shifted nervously, swallowing thickly as his eyes darted to the open doorway. Any moment now…

Aw shit, he didn't have it in him.

"Stove." His voice was pitched an octave higher than normal, but he didn't stop to contemplate that as he hightailed it from the room—without the grace and poise befitting a Malfoy.

Damien's teeth worried his plump bottom lip. "Bloody hell." He whispered as his hands ran nervously through his ginger mop of hair. The phrase was one he'd picked up from some sort of genetic quirk. Normally, the use of the phrase resulted in Madison jabbing him in the side, or, if father was present, an apology was forthcoming. There was something about him saying those two words, the way they rolled off his tongue, which drove his father into a hexing frenzy. A funny spectacle really, as their father took that hexing of his outdoors. Their garden was most unusual, even they knew that. But after one of their father's legendary hex-a-thons, it was quite…strange…a combination of glistening dream and gory nightmare.

"Where did daddy go?"

Madison suppressed an exasperated groan, managing not to glare at her sister. It wouldn't do at all to glare at Sri, to glare at Damian, or even Dorian on occasion, was acceptable in her book. But not Sri…you just didn't glare at Sri. Instead, she swallowed her annoyance, her hand resting gently on Sri's slopping shoulder. "He had to go turn off the stove, Sri."

"Oh." The little girl nodded. "Of course." Sri's wide eyes crinkled slightly from her broad, toothy grin.

"What is taking them so long?" Dorian tried hard to keep his tone bored, but his anticipation seeped through—if only enough to be detected by Madison. She gave him a sympathetic look.

"What's taking father so long is the more pressing of issues!" Damien whispered loudly. His siblings all turned to the boy who was rolling on the balls of his feet—back and forth, back and forth. Each time he made it to the tip of his toes his head craned forward a bit more, trying to get a peek through the door. Madison, Sri, and Dorian caught one another's eyes and began to giggle.

Damien's eyes narrowed. Are they laughing at me? He thought. Surely not! But the laughter continued without abating. Oh, he just couldn't take it anymore. Damien's lips pinched together in a scowl and his hands planted on his hips. "What!"

And that was the sight that greeted the two aurors as they entered timidly into the dining area. The scene alone, one of laughing children, was enough to stop them dead in their tracks.

Harry stared.

How could there be so many different ways to express a simple moment of indefinable mirth—had there always been so many ways to smile? Had eyes always glowed that bright—had his, had Hermione's, had Ron's, had any of theirs ever sparkled with such abandon?

Before him was a sea of oddities that were, odd enough, the children of the one and only Draco Malfoy. Oddities that were…laughing, smiling, each expressing themselves in the simplest of movements they made.

The closest looked to be the youngest of the group—small and delicate, her pale skin was tinged pink from her laughter. Her smile was wide, with the crooked gapped toothy-ness of a five year old. As the happy sound rolled on, the little girl's hands clutched her light-pink jumper as she hopped up and down—her laughter the most exuberant.

Beside the little one was a girl who would never be mistaken for anything but a part-Malfoy…her face wasn't one that smiled much, her eyes always watching, her lips always ready to hurl back the insults thrown by her siblings. Yet, she held a quiet aura of someone who knew more than their fare share of misery and had somehow managed to push it down—if only enough to spend each day in harmony. The many braids of her white-blond hair were pulled back and away from her face—leaving it unframed, a symbol almost, a proclamation of 'this is me', a testament to the trials faced and overcome. But that really wasn't it. Harry couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by her as her amused eyes met his and her chuckles were silenced. They were deep, piercing, violent, watching…caring.

Not only a Malfoy. Harry thought as he looked away. Caring really wasn't a trait of the Malfoy family—at least, he hadn't believed it was.

Maybe he'd be proven wrong. He'd already come to terms that the Malfoy he'd gone to school with had changed—if ever so slightly—and he was no longer…worried for his life (but to be honest, he really hadn't been to begin with, it had only been a ploy—a last resort—to try to worm himself and Hermione out of this mess). Wouldn't Foreign be proud? His little auror-let all grown up. Harry shook his head and vowed to get himself a good stiff drink…later. Right now, he had Malfoy and company to deal with, but perhaps, it wouldn't be the pure torture he'd previously envisioned. The children, after all, were children—and only half Malfoy.

His eyes did a final once over of the room, noting the well hidden exit behind the china cabinet, where was that man anyway?

Hermione's eyes locked on the boy, unable to do anything but stare in the seconds, mere moments, that she had to do so. His eyes…brown and blue speckles, were quite extraordinary. One couldn't decide if they were speckled, or splashes of colors, perhaps both and maybe neither. The two colors blended effortlessly and were as translucent as a watercolor artist's first wash. They were as strange and far from her own, yet somehow they reminded her of something, of someone only vaguely known.

Familiar.

He looked too unreal, someone from a dream she had long forgotten, yet he stood there, flesh and blood and bone.

Breathing.

Alive.

He stood straight, those cursedly familiar eyes taking her in with the same thirst. They were knowing. Knowing eyes. Dark brown hair fell in soft waves, cut to stay out of the eyes. He held himself with confidence, as though he knew there was nothing about that could harm him—or perhaps, he wouldn't let anyone bring him pain.

The two sets of eyes finally landed on the farthest child who still stood, hands on hips, glowering in a very Malfoy-like fashion at his siblings.

"Hellllooooooo." The boy said indignantly as he was ignored—his brother and sisters too busy observing the new meat that had entered the dining room. "Well, fine then! Be that way! I'll—" Whatever the boy was going to say next was cut off as the taller girl rounded on him, her look fit to kill.

"I'm glad you could finally join us."

Ah, yes, Harry thought, and herein the great Draco Malfoy—father and self-made billionaire, cough, cough…right—makes his entrance.

Hermione checked the urge to hurl a ready-made insult, instead she put on a smile—if a bit strained—and bit her tongue to keep her words at bay. "We were just meeting your lovely children."

"So it seems." Draco replied, looking expectantly at Harry.

What? Harry balked at that look, what was he to say? 'Thanks for inviting us, Draco' or perhaps 'Oh what lovely children, Draco' Come on! Though, the last was true, Harry really didn't think it was necessary for him to point out the obvious. Was it? Better be on the safe side. With Malfoy, you never knew what to expect, Harry decided as a smile easily graced his face. "Thank you so much for having us here."

The man seemed somewhat taken aback by Harry's gratitude. Fake or no, it came a surprise. He eyed his ex-classmate with disdain. No, that attitude wasn't going to do at all. Draco added that to the ever growing list of things he'd be making Potter change. But before he could open his mouth to say anything he was silenced by Madison.

"Won't you introduce us all, father. I think it best to get that over with before we eat, don't you?"

It wasn't a question. Draco nodded, obeying without hesitation and he faintly detected a nod of approval from his commanding daughter.

"Children, in front of you are Auror Harry Potter and Auror Hermione Granger." The two nodded. Sri rushed forward, locking her arms around Hermione's knees, barely coming to her waist.

"I'm Sri!" she announced in a muffled voice as her face was buried against Hermione's legs.

Draco winced, that, is where Sri got herself into trouble. He smiled apologetically as he pulled his child away with a slight tug, keeping her against his own legs.

"Yes. This is Sri Lux Marie. But we all call her Sri."

"Nice to meet you." Harry said sweetly. "You look very pretty in your dress. Did your mother make it for you?"

Sri shook her head and giggled, her little hands clutching at her fathers pants.

Hermione smiled politely at the girl, noting the irritation that swept across the elder Malfoy's face.

Draco patted Sri's head. "She's the youngest of them all. The oldest is—"

"Damien…Damien Malfoy." The boy strutted forward, hand outstretched. The older girl snorted and Hermione caught the other boy rolling his eyes. Now, Draco had a rather pained expression. So much for the Malfoy façade. It had disappeared, or at least been lessened, with the children present. She shook the boy's hand.

"Pleasure."

He grinned and turned to Harry. "You have a lovely wife."

"Damien!" The screeched, high pitched and slightly strangled yell did not, in fact, come from any of the females in the room, but from a thoroughly embarrassed father.

Madison closed her eyes, mouth contorting in disgust.

Dorian looked ready to disown himself.

And Sri kept smiling.

Laughter masked the silence as Hermione turned a brilliant shade of fuchsia—from her laughter, or her embarrassment, no one knows. "Oh, Harry love. I think our secret's out."

Harry wrapped an arm around her, looking at the boy seriously. "We do make a pretty picture, don't we?"

"Ye—"

"Enough." Draco barely managed to keep his voice from cracking. "Damien, they are not married. Potter, I need to impress upon you the importance of not indulging him. You'll only regret it and Granger…" Draco paused. "I'm sure I'll think of something later." He took a deep breath and pointed to his son. "That is Damien, and amazing as it is, he is the oldest. Followed by his twin—"

"I'm not his twin." Dorian muttered matter-of-factly.

Draco ignored him, opting to continue in a hope that nothing else went wrong and maybe, if he just kept talking, no one else would be able to get a word in edgewise—therein preventing anymore embarrassing episodes. "Damien, and then this sweet…" He reconsidered his words as Madison shot him another look "And my other daughter is Madison. Alright, introductions over, lets eat!" Draco collapsed into his chair gratefully.

"You can sit by me!" Sri grabbed Hermione's hand as she smiled up at her brightly. She tugged the woman over to the left side of the oval dining table. "This is my chair." She said, sitting down. "You get to sit there." She patted the chair next to her.

"And you will be seated between Madison and Dorian." Draco said as he eyed Potter, still standing in the doorway. "The table doesn't bite, and neither do the children, unless provoked."

"Thanks for the warning." Harry said as he took his seat between the two.

Draco ground his teeth, silently seething, as he unfolded his napkin. Couldn't Potter snap at him? It would make him feel a whole lot better if Potter just lost a bit of control. It was obvious to him now that the Potter he'd gone to school with was long gone, and he felt a bit of nostalgia for the old Potter. This Potter was…different. Draco couldn't predict how he'd react, or get under his skin (which was easier than the first, but how could he tell if the damn man wouldn't show it!) Draco was giving himself a migraine. He really needed to get himself help. A little voice in his head decided to be heard right then, reminding him that he'd brought Potter and Granger here for just that reason. Yeah, he was really in need of some serious health evaluations.

"Should I start the meal tonight?" Madison asked.

Draco nodded, not really listening, as he was still trying to decide whether he really needed to get himself checked out in St. Mongo's or if he just needed a long nap.

With a flick of her hand, Madison watched the bowls fill with her salad. A salad that was sure to cause havoc, but havoc that she controlled. She tried not to smile, but ducked her head anyway as she picked up her fork and dug in.

Prying himself from his thoughts Draco picked up his fork. He was just about to pick up his first bite when warning bells started to go off, his green-pepper sensors screaming for him to stop, stop, STOP! Draco's silver eyes flicked down to look at the salad, suddenly remembering what it was.

Aw, shit.

Draco glowered at the salad, always the first course of the meal. Eww…he thought as he flicked another perfectly square chunk of green pepper to the flat rim of the bowl. He tired not to make any sounds. Madison's daring green eyes were watching him, a hawk eyeing its prey.

She caught sight of yet another bean disappearing into a white linen napkin. She narrowed her eyes…waiting.

Dorian glanced quickly around before hiding a few more of the beans he'd manage to separate from the rest of the salad. He saw his father doing the same with the green peppers—minus the napkin, and it seemed that the man seated opposite him had taken an offense to the celery. Dorian grinned, his emotions unrestricted, unlike his public persona. He was free here…free to express his amusement.

"This dressing tastes funny." Damien muttered, ignoring the warning looks he got from Dorian and his father. "It's all over everything and," He held up a leaf of lettuce with the help of his fork and watched a bead of dressing roll down to drop back in his bowl. "It's practically swimming in it. Aren't you just supposed to put a bit of dressing in the salad Madison?"

Harry couldn't decide if the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped or not. But there was one thing he did know, and that was that the atmosphere was definitely not comfortable.

Draco's hand twitched as he tried to convince his eldest son to shut up before he said something more incredibly stupid…

"And why's it all oily and icky. Did you put salt in there, my lettuce looks a bit wrinkly. Why didn't you cut up some carrots. I like carrots…"

Madison set her fork delicately on the table as her face developed that deathly calm that anyone with half a brain should be afraid of. She leaned back in her chair, removed the linen napkin from her lap and folded her hands.

"How 'bout a tomato and cucumber salad? You know, those are good. You could do that, I'm sure it's not that hard, even I could make it."

Observing the table, Hermione marveled at the child—so much like Ron. Never knew when to shut up, could never take a clue. It was obvious that Draco couldn't say anything as he was just as guilty. But he was trying, it seemed, to reopen some form of telepathy with his son. Most likely begging him to cease and desist immediately.

The other boy, Dorian, she remembered his name, was stuck between gaping at his brother and sinking further down his chair.

"Or you could have done a noodle salad or something, yeah, something like that you know, with a nice cream sauce or some—"

Madison leaned forward slightly as she glared across the table at the never-ending annoyance that plagued her life. "Damien, I know it might be a bit too much for your almost non-existent brain to comprehend. But did you or did you not use all the noodles in that project of yours today?"

The boy was quiet for a moment before a large smile crossed his face and his eyes lit up. "OH yeah! That was a good idea."

"No it wasn't." Dorian groaned.

"If you don't like the salad Damien, then I suggest you make it next time."

"NO!" They were two, identical screams of horror. Hermione couldn't tell which man seemed more repulsed by the idea, or scared for their life, was it Draco, or his son Dorian?

Madison smirked. "Need I remind you father that we are to eat everything on our plates, whether or not we like it. Or are you changing the rules?"

Damn her! Whoops, no, that would be bad. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes glancing at Madison, but not really meeting them—god why did she affect him like this? It wasn't normal for a child to have such control over a parent. He felt, more and more that she was taking care of him, rather than he her. Of course, he knew why she could, he also knew who she was, which explained a lot of why he was squirming, unable to make eye-contact with her, or the man sitting beside her—oh this was humiliating. The two aurors were probably silently holding a parade in the honor of the day they saw Draco Malfoy squirm. He doubted for the umpteenth time that this was his smartest decision. And the table seating! What had he been thinking sitting those two green-eyed vixens next to each other?

This was all Potter's fault, Draco thought, his inner-self glared at the man. Yep, everything was Potter's fault, there was no other logical explanation to explain why Draco had suddenly lost his mind.

Then again, it was Madison's fault for deliberately making a salad that everyone would dislike—and did so right under his nose!

That was Potter's fault also. He just didn't know it yet.

"No, Madison, I'm not changing the rules." Draco said, trying to remain calm as he contemplated his rim of green peppers. Ew…

Madison's eyebrow arched as she contemplated each bowl around the table. "So, Father doesn't like the peppers—no surprise there. Damien doesn't like the salad, period." Her green eyes shifted onto Dorian and she smiled at him…not pleasantly either. He stared back at her, not even trying to feign innocence.

"And what exactly do you find wrong with my salad?" Madison asked, her stony gaze leveling on Hermione.

Hermione gulped. "No-nothing. It's wonderful."

The girl gave her an approving smile. "There," she said turning to her father. "At least someone appreciates my hard work."

"Like it's hard to cut greens and toss them in a bowl." Dorian grumbled.

"We all enjoy the salad Madison. It's only that some of us don't enjoy all of it."

"Here here!"

"SHUT UP!" Draco, Dorian, and Madison shouted in almost perfect unison as they each shot their own glares at Damien.

"Madison, why don't we just skip to the main course?" Draco whispered and was relieved by her small nod of agreement. With a flick of her hand, the salad was cleared and the plates were filled with a less controversial chicken and rice.

Hunger seemed to be, thankfully, one of the few things on all their minds, and the time slid by as the occupants ate with only the slight clanking of plates and forks to fill the comfortable void.

Dorian was the first to finish and he contented himself with watching the new additions to the table. They were relatively odd, as he'd rarely met many people who were destined to stick around. Oh, there had been a few persons of interest through his few short years, but all in all, it was only—and always only—himself, his siblings, and his father.

Avoiding being caught, Damien watched Hermione Granger as she ate. And yes, he knew her name, he knew almost everything about her—while he and his siblings were simply waiting for their father to get up the gumption, Dorian had been busy. He'd researched the two from top to bottom and he knew everything there was to know about them that was of public information.

But for some reason, as he watched the woman quietly pick at her meal—not really eating—he realized that the people who they were brought up to be in books and in papers were…not really there. By name yes, by occupation yes, by history and everything else, _yes_. But that wasn't who they were.

Her eyes weren't quite alive. Her movements, sometimes, seemed a bit stiff—but he wasn't sure if that was brought on by present company or not. What irked him, however, was the way she caved in on herself, slightly hunched, almost in a protective fashion.

Dorian set all information aside and just watched.

The man, Harry, was eating with the same, slow, picky hesitancy as his female counterpart. It bordered on reluctantly, when he thought about it—but not in any way indicating that the two believed the food to be poisoned, or even bad by any standard. But rather…that they just didn't eat.

"So…" Hermione said, idly placing her fork aside. "Do you attend school?"

"No. They do not." Draco answered shortly.

The children—with the exception of Sri as she never glared—glared at their father. Hermione caught Harry's eye and together they shared a silent laugh.

"We're taught at home." Damien quipped, straining to see Hermione past Sri.

Harry took a last bite before mirroring Hermione's earlier actions, setting the fork aside. "I thought you said no one, save yourself, Draco, entered this house."

"I teach them." Draco responded simply.

Jaws dropped.

"Is that wise?"

"Not at all, I just wanted my children to come out as dumb as rocks."

Harry's eyebrow arched with amusement. "And where, pray tell, have you come across such a muggle phrase, Draco?"

"Daddy lets us watch films and shows all the time!" Sri said excitedly, as if she'd finally found a part of the conversation where she understood what was going on. She tugged on Hermione's sleeve, prompting the woman to bend down towards her. Sri cupped her hand, and giggling secretly, whispered into Hermione's ear.

"Oh my!"

"What! What did she say?" Damien was almost jumping in his chair trying to see Hermione's face.

"You let your children watch…television?" Harry asked, unsure if his hearing was what it used to be.

"Did you, or did you not, see a television complete with every ridiculous appliance in the family room this afternoon?"

Amazed, and taking Draco's answer for a round about yes, Harry leaned back in his chair, almost…almost floored. Then, he looked up at Malfoy, a twinkle in his eye and a smirk on his face. "I thought it was just for show." He rubbed his hands together in anticipation a look of glee on his face. "But now that I know it's for real, I just can't wait to watch all my favorite programs. I just love football!"

Madison turned abruptly in her seat—and Draco couldn't help but feel surprised and a little jealous that she'd actually moved, and quickly, reacting to something Potter had said.

"No." She said, a real smile on her face. "I love football."

Harry nodded. "I see that as a challenge Madison, care to find out which one of us loves football more?"

Draco wanted to protest. No! Madison could not steal Harry, Harry was his. Draco felt like pouting in the corner, or permanently locking Harry in his room, which….really wasn't all that bad an idea.

Draco shook his head. One, Madison was not stealing Potter. Two, he really needed to get over Potter. And three…three would have to come later as his eyes were drawn to the two, already squabbling over their favorite teams—which were the same, big surprise there.

At least it wasn't the subject of Quidditch, for then, Draco knew his headache would increase ten fold. Damien was unpredictable when the subject came up—loud, obnoxious and always yelling out statistics that Draco had no idea how he remembered as he rarely showed any intelligence—except when playing chess. Damien took the game to heart, even though he didn't have the talent of his sisters. Sri and Madison could give Draco a run for his money, and Draco was willing to bet, Potter's too. Dorian, however, had little interest in playing the game himself, often shying away from anything that had to do with brooms, but took some enjoyment in simply watching the game—uncaring of ranking, stats, scores, and positions.

Glaring at his empty plate because, yes, it had offended him and deserved to be receiving his most deadly of glares, Draco did his best impression of a marble statue.

"Daddy?"

Draco looked up, barely catching the smirks, almost identical, on both Madison and Harry's faces.

"Yes Sri?"

"I'm tired."

Well, what more could he want? Draco smiled at his youngest fondly. She was just the cutest little thing…ahem. Yes, now, Draco quickly surveyed the table, his children had eaten the main course without complaint, leaving nay a noodle on their plates…but the other two…

He added eating habits to the growing lists of things to change about the two aurors. He ran a hand through locks he knew shined a silver-blond and was, thank you very much, quite proud of.

Why shouldn't he be proud of his hair? After all, none of his children had been blessed with the Malfoy trademark, which he hadn't really expected, but was a bit disappointed nonetheless…

Draco groaned inwardly, this was a fucking bad idea if he did say so himself. He could barely keep up with rational thought, maybe he really should have waited—but, damn it, they had been doing so well alone!

Calmly taking a breath and making sure his mask was in place, Draco stood and held out his hand. Sri jumped up, beaming as she ran to her father's side and grabbed his hand tightly, hugging her small body around his arm.

"I'll put her to bed. Damien, it's your turn to clean up the kitchen. Madison…"

Madison looked at her father skeptically and waited.

"Dorian, you make sure…"

Dorian ceased to listen to his father in favor of shaking his head in disapproval, and disappointment, at Madison. She only gave him a crooked smile before hauling the dark haired wizard to his feet and shoving him towards the family room where he was sure the man was about to experience pain worse than death.

After all, that's how Dorian viewed time spent with Madison—very, very painful.

Hermione watched with longing eyes Harry's retreating back. Draco had left sometime ago with the littlest attached to him—she could almost swear she heard him humming a soft tune as they disappeared up the stairs.

The one who had been seated to her left had gotten up, waving his hand to clear the table and now Hermione turned with a tired smile to the boy seated on her left.

"Hi."

He grinned, his eyes shining with happiness. But why?

"You look tired." His voice was soft and sweet. Hermione nodded, he was right, she was tired.

"Always?"

Hermione started, her body jerking of its own accord, her eyes, which had been resting on the lace table cloth flew to the boys face. His eyes…Hermione shook her head, rubbing a hand tiredly over her brow.

"Yes. Always."

Draco's hand fluttered over the light switch. The room he was exiting turning black as he checked one final time that Sri was safely in her bed, tucked to the neck by flowered blankets and surrounded by her trusted stuffed cats, Papa and Mama. His eyes scanned her already sleeping form. Her cheek curved softly as it rested against the pillow. He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, so minuscule beneath the blankets. The way the lock of hair over her face fluttered with each breath.

He smiled, even as his heart clenched. Who would want to put even a scratch on her? She was the most innocent, sweet thing in the world he knew—he had never known anything or anyone could ever be what Sri was…

Yet she was the one they'd chosen to harm.

Closing the door lightly, his eyes fluttered shut and he leaned against the wall for support. Why hadn't he just thought this through? He wasn't ready for this…no one was…

His fists tightened defiantly. He had thought this through. It would work. It had to work.

"You okay?"

Draco's eyes flew open. Great, who better to witness his moment-long breakdown than the one and only Harry Potter?

"You weaseled away from Madison quickly enough." He stated coldly.

Harry shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck as he smiled. "Nah. She released me."

"She let you go?" Draco's mouth hung open in utter surprise. "She didn't fall asleep, or die of some unknown disease. She actually said, in words, that you could leave?"

Harry laughed, his eyes closing momentarily as he shook his head in amazement. "She's not all that bad, Malfoy, I don't see why you seem scared of her."

Draco humphed, hands on hips in defiance. "I am not scared of a child." He glared. "And I told you to call me Draco."

Harry only chuckled as he began to walk past him. Draco felt a warm hand pat his shoulder in an almost scarily affectionate way.

"Goodnight then…Draco."

He couldn't help it, Draco remained rooted to that spot, even after hearing the door to Potter's room close. His voice was just so…sexy. An involuntary shiver ran up his spine and it felt good…really good. Uprooting himself, Draco almost sprinted to his room at the end of the hall throwing the door shut behind him and collapsing onto his bed.

Why oh why did Potter's hair have to fall into his dazzling green eyes? Why oh why was every stupid little god damn movement of his so endearing? Why the fuck was he so enraptured by the boy turned man? Why oh why had he felt the need to bring his life long obsessions into his home?

Why oh why had he put him on the same floor as his own?

Why oh why hadn't he provided Potter with his own bathroom as he had Granger?

Why oh fucking why couldn't he just get those two out of his head? And by the way, while he's at it, where the fuck was Granger anyway?

Hearing laughter that he recognized, Draco rose from the bed, padding his way to the window.

Well that answers that question, he thought.

Dorian had taken her to the garden…they were swinging on the swing he'd bought for them. Swinging through the heavily flowered back yard—a small paradise. Swinging, with a book—most likely Dorian's—open between them.

Laughing.

Draco closed his eyes and made his way back to the bed by memory alone. He collapsed there, alone as it had always been.

This had all been a mistake.

Everything had been one big mistake. Already, the two were taking over his life, more than they had already. Merlin, if only he could hate them—even if it were only pretend. He paused that thought, a smile creeping slowly across his face as he sat up—an almost gleeful expression now upon his face as he sat, poised. He knew something they didn't know and it gave him the most amazing, yet childish, rush of pleasure.

Potter and Granger, famed aurors, loved by all, and currently in the employ of himself, had yet to realize they were no longer on the continent they had always called home.

And here…the rules changed.


	6. Chapter 6

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All to Hell

**Chapter Six**

**

* * *

**He was late. Foreign pushed the doors to his office open, having apparated into the Ministry building only moments before—he'd been stalled in those precious few moments by a newbie, asking to see his identification. To say that that newbie, a Mister Jay Handera, would be there tomorrow would be to say that the coming storm would be pigs instead of precipitation. 

And what was he to be greeted with upon opening those doors? Foreign cursed openly, loudly, and wasn't surprise when a passing Auror poked his ugly little head through the door to check that all was well. With a glower, the auror was gone.

Foreign chuckled.

Now where the hell was his secretary?

He glanced at the new stack of paperwork, appearing overnight no doubt, and in the middle of his clean desk, as if to impress upon him the importance of itself, to demand his attention.

Nothing demanded his attention. Foreign sat in his chair, and scooted the package to the edge of his desk. Leaning back, he observed. It was still glowing faintly, the magical signature of their newly invented version of FedEx. Thank you Ms. Granger. The glow trailed off into a bow that floated almost hauntingly in the air above the stack. The tips, he noticed, were green. Unusual, as the use of that color had gone out with the war—only to be used now when there was…

Foreign leaned forward, his hands unclasping as his interest was undoubtedly captured. He flicked his wand, muttering softly, and magically tugged the bow loose. The package opened, the façade, a stack of paperwork, slipping away.

His voice boomed loud and clear throughout the Ministry building. "Someone find out where the fuck Potter and Granger are!"

Foreign got up from his desk, leaving his office. He couldn't think in such an environment. What had he been thinking? He hated leather.

As he marched down the hallways, he barked orders, everyone was to be reassigned. There was nothing more important than locating Potter and Granger. When asked, he only said that they were on assignment, and to find them. If asked the importance, Foreign simply glared daggers and asked if their job was important to them. If asked if Harry and Hermione were in danger. He simply asked them to define danger. He didn't give them the satisfaction of knowing what was wrong. After all, nothing was.

Nothing was wrong.

As he stalked past the offices, down a hallway no longer filled with careless chatter, he paused. What the hell was that sound?

That…grunting?

Turning around his eyes spun, finally landing on the door. The source of that…grunting. With three strong strides he was there, his hand on the knob, his other already delivering a terse and heavy knock. Without pause, he opened it.

His voice boomed loud and clear throughout the Ministry building. "MISTER WEASLEY!"

"Hermione?" It was stupid of him to answer the phone like that. The last three callers had not been her.

"Hi."

He let out a shaky sigh, collapsing onto the bed. "Merlin, I'm glad you called." His voice trailed off, he could hear her swallowing. "You didn't come home, so I figured you had to stay late." His free hand clutched his hair, slowing rubbing down his drawn and worried face.

"Something like…"

He shook his head, taking a deep breath. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I missed you last night." Missed wasn't exactly the word. She wasn't supposed to be working. Not anymore. They'd discussed it, she deserved a vacation.

"I missed you too."

Taking a deep breath, he finally let it go. "So where are you?"

"I…"

"Just tell him."

The second voice was soft, but Blaise recognized it immediately. "Harry's there too? Hermione? Hermione, put Harry on."

He could only assume, from the noise that followed, that Hermione had thrown the phone at Harry…in relief or anger, he couldn't be sure.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You both sound like shit. Where are you?"

The sigh was one he was too well associated with. Blaise felt his body grow cold.

"I don't know, Blaise. I don't know where we are."

"Are you okay?"

"We're okay."

"Is it another assignment."

"Something like that."

"When does it end?"

The pause lasted one minute, he could hear Hermione in the background, chanting. It was a calming chant, one she only used now under extreme stress. His heart clenched.

"We don't know."

"Look, just tell me…"

"We don't know!"

That was Hermione.

Blaise's head dropped into his palm with a loud smack.

"What's the assignment then?"

"It's—"

Blaise strained to hear the voice that cut Harry off. He caught, breakfast…ass…Granger…and children, before he heard the slamming of a door.

"Good morning to you too."

"What?"

"Nothing Blaise, look we have to go before he decides to come back in here."

"Who?"

"Hermione sends her love."

"What?"

"Bye."

"HARRY?"

Blaise stared at the phone in his hand. What the fuck? He glanced over at Hermione's dresser. He'd left it there. All nestled and perfect in it's little box. Blaise shook his head, eyes drifting away from it when he stilled. Hermione's planner lay at the end, her keys on top of it. Sliding off the bed, Blaise picked it up.

Sometimes it paid to have a girlfriend who mixed muggle and wizarding ways.

Now what the fuck was the name of her boss?

Oh yes, Foreign.


	7. Chapter 7

**

* * *

**

Damn Them All to Hell

A/N: And herein my long awaited return. Cheers everyone. An update. Now would one of you kindly fetch me a vodka.

**Chapter Seven**

**

* * *

**"Bacon or sausage?" 

Harry blinked as the girl held out the mentioned choices. Was he supposed to decide? Why? What was the point? How? What? Somehow he got the impression that this wasn't exactly a question. It was a test. And if he chose wrong, he'd be punished. Hesitantly, he pointed at the bacon.

"What, you like to eat Wilber?"

Damn, and last night he'd thought they'd get along well. So much for first impressions. "Is it any different from eating him in sausage form?"

One finely shaped eyebrow raised as a sly smile spread across her face. "Touché Mr. Potter."

Harry grimaced. "Sounds like your father talking."

"What a shame."

"Yes, it actually is."

"So you would prefer Harry?"

"Well, would you want me to call you Miss Malfoy?"

"That would be confusing, as there are two of us."

Harry grinned. "Touché."

Madison nodded, trying to hide the pleasure that bloomed over her face. The feeling was foreign, an odd warmth that settled against her bones. It hummed softly, urging her into a security she'd never felt before. When Harry sparred with her, talked with her, gave her any attention, she couldn't help but smile. He didn't back down when she glared, but he was cautious. Very cautious. The caution was in his eyes. In both their eyes. It never left. Or hadn't since she'd first seen them the afternoon before. But Madison had an inkling that it never left.

"We'll have bacon." Placing the sausage back in the fridge she turned to Harry. "There's a skillet beneath that drawer, in the cabinet. Get that for me."

Harry did as told, removing the cast iron skillet.

"And don't even think about bonking me over the head with it either."

Shocked, Harry paused as he stared at her back. Then, his head tilted back, his smile widening. He laughed.

Madison was glad her back was to the man. His laughter was contagious, pulling at her reserve. She smiled with abandon…there wasn't anyone to see it. Finally his chuckles died and she heard him sit.

"How do you know about Wilber anyway?"

Typical, Madison thought as she rolled her eyes. She took the skillet, placing it over the stove. "This is a house full of children, think about it." She removed slices of bacon, laying them side by side in the skillet. "Father has to find some way to keep us entertained and out of his hair. What better way than the lovely muggle inventions made just for that?"

Chuckling, Harry leaned forward on his stool. "I doubt that that was the reason for their invention, but it's a handy explanation."

"Father uses it as one."

The bacon sizzled as the pan heated, the aroma drifted beneath Harry's nose. It was a tantalizing smell that made him realize it had been far too long since he'd had anything besides coffee for breakfast. Come to think about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd had bacon. He lived for…well, he didn't actually know what he lived for. Maybe he lived for Hermione, to keep her alive and happy. Maybe it was simply not living for anyone, but just living. Just living. Suppressing the annoyed sigh that wished to escape, Harry set his sights back on Madison, who was waving her hand over the pan of sizzling meat. There was a glimmer of silver, a line that lit up for a moment, less than that, and then it was gone.

"He has some sort of set up…"

"I set it up." Madison waved her hand, revealing a layer of shimmering, intersecting lines that laced its way around the kitchen and through the walls. It was an intricate, delicate trail. Harry lifted his hand to the magic, feeling the power there. "Father sometimes, isn't around when we needed to make dinner. It is much easier to have a bit of magic to help us. And, as you know, we're underage, so it's illegal. So I devised this…and father put it into use."

Frowning, Harry watched the bacon turn itself. "He isn't…always around?"

Madison smirked. "He's got a lot to deal with and all."

"I don't doubt that." Harry laughed, both at the truth behind the girl's words, and the strange twist he found beneath them.

She was an odd child.

And that was about all he could say.

"Morning Harry."

Patting the stool beside him, Harry smiled as Hermione sat. She'd showered, again. Was that the third, fourth time, maybe?

"Something sure smells good."

Madison watched the two, nodding at the woman. "Bacon." She took a moment to make sure the bacon wasn't burning, glancing back at the two. It was strange, the soft pink glow that seemed to radiate from them when they were near one another. A sharing of magic? Madison didn't know, but she didn't think she liked it. Harry was hers…okay so that was a little over the top. Madison properly reprimanded herself. But no matter what her inner self said while fighting her other inner selves, they all agreed on one thing. When that pink glow hovered around them, covering them, she felt farther away from them. The world split into a million dimensions, and each one separated her, pulled her away. The prickling started in her fingertips, running up her arm and down her spine to settle deep inside her, poking her in annoying—if not painful—parts of her steely composure. Testing.

Testing her for human reaction. For human reaction.

Testing.

To see if she cared.

It never went away. Even though she hadn't come into this world ethically, or even in a way previously known, she was human. And nothing, nothing about the circumstances surrounding her birth changed that. Not one thing. You can't take that away…it doesn't matter how you're born. So she pushed, and pushed hard at the inadequate feeling. Everyday her father kept those people from her. The ones who believed her less than human. The ones who hated him for a name and a past that he couldn't change. From the ones that simply hated. Once you were labeled, once people thought of you as a group, a thing. You lost who you were, you lost your individuality. You were no longer human. You were part of something—something to be exterminated. It's so dangerous, prejudices, labels…they destroy so much.

They were trying to destroy her family.

"Father should be down soon." Her thoughts darkened her mood, her fists clenching as she tried to back away from the dangerous cyclone of emotions. It wasn't worth it. Breaking down wouldn't solve anything. Only causing more confusion, more hurt. Her father, no matter how well he hid it, was stretched too thin. He'd needed help. He'd called upon the only two people he could trust, she knew, and the only two people who could possibly understand. And learn to forgive.

The woman yawned deeply and Madison wondered if either had slept. She knew they'd been asleep, having snuck—along with Dorian—into their rooms before midnight. But, having your eyes closed and your mind full was not a recipe for rest. When they'd peeked in, the woman had shifted, tucking her face closer to her chest, deeper into the shadows—away from prying eyes. A natural defense, even when no harm was around. There were some things, Madison mused, that only time can cure. And then there were those that time only worsened.

Dorian had wanted to stay, and so she'd traveled to Harry's room by herself. Creeping down the hallway, keeping half an ear out for the telltale signs of her father stirring, Madison paused outside his door. She heard nothing. But she shouldn't have been surprised. With his children safer, and a stressful day behind him, she didn't doubt that he'd fallen into a coma-like sleep. Harry's door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily beneath her palm as she pushed it open a crack. The shades covered the window, the only light coming from behind her as she peered in. Eyes adjusting she could make out shadows and shapes. The man lay on the edge of the bed, his back to the door, his knees tucked to his chest. He wasn't beneath the covers, and he hadn't changed from his day attire. A book lay over his thigh.

She'd given it to him, hours before. It was one of her favorites. A complete history of Football. A smile crept across her face as her body was flooded with the same warmth it had last night. He'd been reading the book she'd lent him. For some reason, Madison couldn't remember ever feeling so content.

"You smile pretty." Hermione said, her own face splayed with a soft curl of lips. "Maybe we could help with something here in the kitchen. I feel kind of useless just using Harry as a pillow."

The smile hovered on her face as if unsure whether to keep it or not. Madison gulped as it faltered. "Do you guys drink tea…" she paused, considering. "We've also got coffee, some kind of juice, I think."

"Tea would be fine. Right Hermione?" Hermione nodded and Harry hauled himself from his seat. "Where might I find the kettle?"

"Under there." Madison pointed to a cupboard. She grabbed the selection of tea her father kept and set it before Hermione.

"So where is everyone this morning?" Hermione asked as she thumbed through the teas. "Are your siblings still sleeping?"

"No. They're up. Father doesn't believe in wasting daylight."

Hermione grinned. "Oh really? Hmm…" She glanced at Harry. "The Malfoy I remember never made it to morning meals."

Harry filled the kettle, setting it on the fire. He observed the magic web. It was complex, but simple enough to keep from draining a wizard. Low maintenance, he decided as he finished his assessment. The rest of the kitchen was covered with a sweep of his eyes. Everything was covered in safety spells—sharp corners, the glass-fronted cabinets. Malfoy had taken painstaking precautions; the kitchen was the safest he'd ever seen.

"I remember that. Pug-face used to complain about it. She wanted quality time with her Drake." Harry said with a lop-sided grin, leaning against the counter. "Your father sure didn't mind being lazy in his younger days."

Madison nodded. "He's changed from that." She stated, no malevolence. She wasn't defending her father. It was a face. Her father was a different man from the one both Hermione and Harry would remember. After all, they weren't what he remembered. People change. For better, for worse. They change.

And there was nothing you could do but hope.

"Good morning." The three looked up as Draco entered. His hair was slightly damp, his clothing hanging loosely on his form. "Dorian and Damien are finishing washing up, but Sri could use your help Madison."

Madison's eyes narrowed as she nodded, removing the crisply cooked bacon from stove. "The tea's ready." She said to Harry as she left the room.

"Well, aren't you a killjoy?" Harry said as he turned to fill his and Hermione's mugs with the steaming liquid.

"Must I remind you that you are here to do a job?" Draco took out his own glass, holding it out expectantly. Potter didn't even flinch as he filled it.

"Sugar?" Harry held the jar up in question.

"Yes."

Harry helped himself to two huge spoonfuls as Draco grimaced. Carrying the two mugs to Hermione, Harry sat once more. "And no, Malfoy. We haven't forgotten the circumstances. But, as we are to live under your roof, it is only best for all involved if our relationship with the occupants is amiable."

Hermione nodded. "And that includes you, so we'll forgo any nastiness and skip right to being chums." She concluded, taking a welcoming sip of tea. "Oh Harry, just perfect."

She was rewarded with a crooked grin. "Everything I do is perfect."

"Cocky as always." Hermione chuckled.

"Now wait a god damn minute." Draco shook the shock off that had settled over him at Potter's speech. He couldn't believe it. Nothing was ever that easy.

"Well, as I'm sure your wondering the validity of what we said, there will most likely be conflicts. Most likely between the three of us. But we needn't make it any more unpleasant. I suggest that, for today, we use the glorious outdoor weather to have a picnic."

Draco held his mug to his chest. "And what, might I ask, be the point of that?"

Hermione set her cup aside. "For us to do our job, Draco, we need to understand the circumstances that led to our employment."

"I already—"

Hermione silenced him with a raised hand. "We need details. Today we shall get to know you and your children as you are now. You will fill us in on the last decade, and later you can give us a tour of your home. Now, do you think we should have ham sandwiches or beef, Harry?"

Draco blinked twice. It was a few moments before he realized his mistake. Since the beginning, he'd only thought of the two as his old rivals. Sure he'd also had several not-so-platonic thoughts concerning Potter, but that wasn't exactly a new development. But, he'd forgotten. He'd forgotten the years that were behind them. He expected them to see him different, yet he remained in his old mindset. They were professionals. They were here to do a job. And they were doing just that. He nodded as he concluded that they were indeed the best. But he frowned now at his tea, and hoped that they wouldn't notice through their conversation of sandwiches and chips.

They were professionals. Viewing this assignment as objectively as any other. And when it was over, they would leave this house, as they would any other.

Why did that knowledge make his blood run cold?

"Madison! I can't reach my toothbrush." Sri's little hands were grabbing the air above her head, clenching and unclenching in a vain attempt to reach the cup that held her sparkly brush.

"Here Sri." Madison reached up, bringing the cup down. Sri grabbed the brush in her little fist. Large doe-eyes blinked up at Madison.

"Toothpaste?"

Madison retrieved that as well.

"Thank you Madi."

Madison nodded at her sister. "Make sure you brush good."

"I will."

Leaving the bathroom Madison knocked on Dorian's door. With anyone else she'd have barged right on in. But Dorian wasn't Sri, or Damien. They had a mutual understanding. He would knock before entering her room, and she would do the same for him. They got along well—mostly by staying out of one another's way. "Dorian?"

"What do you want?" Dorian sat up as Madison came in, shutting the door behind her.

"Father's being an ass."

A snort brought a smug smile to her face. "It's what he's good at Madison. Just like you're good at manipulating whatever you wish."

"Why thanks." The sarcasm dripped.

"It wasn't a compliment." Dorian said as he reopened the book he'd been reading. "Is there something you want." He asked. "Aside from stating the obvious, like father's inability to come to grip with his _feelings?_"

"Talking of feelings, what do you think about it?"

Dorian thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Which feelings are we speaking of? How I feel about the two aurors? Which you already know. Or how I feel about father's feelings for the two aurors? Which, again, you already know."

"You suck." Madison stalked over to the door. "And you think I'm the one that came out emotionally challenged."

He didn't flinch as the door slammed shut. Madison liked to pick fights, and while their fights were unconventional, he knew she needed them. They all needed something, anything that would make them feel normal. To resemble the families that they watched on the TV. He set the book aside, having only picked it up when father sent them back to their rooms. His window had the best view of the gardens, and that was where he liked to be. The sun heated the air, already heady with the perfume of roses and honeysuckle. He'd sit out there, his back against one of the great oaks, and he would just close his eyes and feel. The slight breeze as it roamed the branches above his head. The warmth it brought, as well as the cool. Grass between his toes, his fingers.

He liked to feel.

Because, no matter how many potions he drank, or tests his father tried, he felt nothing.

He liked having those two here. He was glad his father had brought them. He could feel them, like he felt the grass, and the wind, and the sunlight. He felt love.

When his father finally called for them, Dorian was more than ready to leave his room. There was only so much one could do, and he'd exhausted those options early on. Why exactly his father had felt pressed to keep them upstairs, he didn't really care. He was out, and thanking whatever god he could.

"Eat your breakfast, then we're going to have a picnic." Draco told his children as they sat around the table.

"Where are Hermione and Harry?" Damien asked.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. First name basis already? Well, he couldn't expect much else from Damien. "They needed to do some things before joining us." He could only assume they went back to their rooms. Which he had proofed this morning while they conversed in the kitchen. Charms of distraction if either of them so much as contemplated escape—via death or any other variety of means. They put on a good act. But he knew neither were beyond contemplating it. It was a wonder they were still alive, with the little that they ate. As with the night before, neither had finished their morning meal. They hadn't even finished their tea. A bite there, a sip here and they called it quits. Draco could only shake his head and wait. Their eating habits were going to change. There was no doubt about that. He'd have his children sit on them while he spoon fed them both if push came to shove.

Perhaps having them here would do more than fulfill his needs. Maybe, Draco considered, just maybe, this would be exactly what they needed.

* * *

Foreign wasn't known for loosing his temper. He was hard, but he pushed only as far as he himself was willing to go. He was not an unreasonable man. 

But right now, he was fucking pissed. He glared, face still red and splotched, as he watched Ronald Bilius Weasley squirm in the chair across from him. The woman, a secretary of one of the lower general defense agents, had the decency to look horrified. Dillon knew he was. He made a mental note to get the memory erased as soon as possible.

"Do you have anything to say Mr. Weasley?"

Ron only smirked. "She had a nice ass, what else can I say."

The woman eeped and Dillon swallowed the bile that had rose at his disgust. How Potter and Granger managed to call this man a friend was beyond him. While Harry was known around the office for his crude humor and sexual innuendos. He never offended anyone, and his ploys were always made in good humor. But when Ronald Weasley made them, they spoke of nothing except his disregard for others.

"Thank Merlin you left this program."

Ron smirked. "I do. Everyday. Can I go now? I came to see Harry and Hermione. You know…" He leaned forward. "Harry _Potter _and Hermione _Granger?_"

Foreign really, really disliked this man. He looked to the secretary who was shaking in her seat. He felt sorry for her. "You may go, Miss, and I beseech you to stay away from lechers in the future. Free advise."

The woman nodded enthusiastically, mumbling her gratitude as she escaped the office.

"As for you Mr. Weasley. Potter and Granger quite busy at the moment."

A red eyebrow rose. "So?"

Dillon leaned back in his chair. "So?"

"I'm their friend, need I remind you."

"Your reminder is unnecessary Mr. Weasley. I remember you perfectly, and how you behaved at last years Ministry Ball."

The man looked confused for a second as his few remaining brain cells ran to grasp at free-reigning memories. His features returned to their cocky smirking. "Oh yeah. What a party that turned out to be."

Ugh. There were some of the male population that were just hopeless. Foreign had no hope for the youngest male Weasley.

"Well if you're sure that my _best _friends are unable to see me." Ron shrugged. "I'll just come back when they are." He stood. "Always a pleasure, Foreign."

The Head of Defense couldn't have been more relieved to see him leave. He had other things to deal with. Like finding Harry and Hermione. Oh, and dealing with Hermione's very upset fiancé. Or to-be-fiancé. Poor man, Dillon pitied him. He himself had planned his proposal to his current wife to the last, most crucial detail. It had turned out well for him. Unfortunately for Blaise Zabini, the love of his life had never come home.

"Amanda." Foreign called, and waited for his assistant to answer.

"Yes, Mr. Foreign?"

"Would you send in the man who's been stalking the halls please?"

"He'll be right in, sir."

"Thank you, Amanda."

Blaise growled as he watched Ron leave Foreign's office. He'd never liked that man. Even though Hermione had pointed out her school-crush was no longer valid, he couldn't help but think if she'd ever been attracted to the slob. Well, wonders never cease, she could one day find herself in love with him once more. Blaise knew that if that happened, he'd die. He'd just sit down and let someone kill him. And because of that, he vowed to be everything she would ever need and more. But he couldn't do that if he wasn't in her life, and she his.

"Sir?"

Blaise looked up. A woman peered at him anxiously. "Mr. Foreign will see you now."

"About bloody time." He made his way to the office, not waiting for the woman, and barged right on in.

The door was shut with barely controlled anger.

"Mr. Zabini." Dillon nodded his head, indicating the seat that Ronald Weasley had _not _sat in only moments before.

"I'll get straight to the point." Blaise sat. "I want to know where Hermione, and Harry, are."

Foreign sat straight. "You know they're together?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Of course I do. They called me."

Foreign smiled the first smile of the day. "They called you?"

"Are you deaf?"

"No…no I'm not. You've been a great help Mr. Zabini."

Blaise blinked. "What…what is going on?"

"You see," Foreign began. He couldn't keep some things from the man. As he was the only link he had to currently finding the location of his aurors. "Hermione and Harry are on special assignment. I don't even know where they are. I would be most grateful if I could have your cooperation as we try to find them." Before my fears come true, Foreign thought.

"And this cooperation, it will go both ways?"

Dillon shrugged. That may or may not be a promise he could keep. "You know I can't promise that. We don't know what the future has in store. But, what they is over. I will of course insist upon Ms. Granger to take an extended leave. Does that satisfy you?"

Blaise thought a moment, his lips pursed, the words ready. "And Harry?" He asked. He'd long discovered that Hermione shared something with Harry that she would never share with him. And it was something he couldn't be jealous of. It was deeper than friendship could ever be. But their love for one another remained platonic. Together, they could live. This caused him to think of them as an entity instead of individuals. It was Harry and Hermione. Hermione and Harry. And in time, it would be Blaise, Hermione, and Harry. He would take care of them both.

Foreign nodded his agreement and Blaise promised to contact them if he heard from either again. As he left, he thought he saw relief flood the man's face.

What was going on? Blaise shook his head. He couldn't concern himself with the Ministry's business. Looking after Hermione and Harry was more than enough. He only hoped they were okay. Hermione's daily medications were still in the bathroom, lining the wall. She hadn't taken them with her.

* * *

Harry held Hermione's hair as the tremors overtook her, wracking her body as she heaved. It wasn't fair to her. Never would he wish this for anyone. What little she'd eaten had come up nearly twenty minutes before, and still she shook, sweat rolling down her clammy skin. Harry could feel it, the sick, as he'd come to call it. There was no good description of it. There was no way to describe the overwhelming embrace that made every single part of you feel diseased. You just felt sick. So very sick. 

She slid down to the floor and he released her hair as she curled in on herself, her body twitching as her tears slid over pale cheeks.

Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her over cold, smooth tile to be bodily embraced.

She didn't cry out anymore. Only sobbed quietly and waited. Hermione wanted to go home. Where Harry held her and Blaise kissed away her tears. Sometimes she felt like such a burden. As the tremors overtook her, Blaise would make a call. Harry would always come. And together, with them both, she would somehow find the strength to push oblivion away for just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

Harry's words fought their way inside her ears as she cut off a sob. Her stomach clenched, each and every muscle screaming in protest. She always saw stars, and if it weren't for the pain, she would have found them beautiful. But the stretching, the acid-like burning, the tearing, kept her more than occupied.

Pain potions only dulled her mind. Not the pain. Hermione fought through the haze as she regained some use of her limbs. Finding Harry's hand, she gripped it hard.

He was right. It would be over soon.

But never soon enough.

Harry knew she'd let go. Finally succumbing to the pain. She'd lasted thirty-seven minutes. Over half an hour of hell. Gripping her limp body tightly to his, he stood carrying her to the bedroom.

She murmured in her sleep and Harry smoothed the hair from her brow. "Shh, sleep now." He whispered as he pulled the covers to her chin.

With one last look, he left the room, the door closing with a soft click behind him.

Downstairs, Harry sat himself in front of the television. He held the remote in his hand. His emotions were rolling through him as they always did. His magic was strained. The bond between them calling for more and more. Wanting to mend and comfort. But he'd promised her. Only when needed. And he was keeping his promise. Breathing deeply, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on gates and locks and fifteen-foot-thick concrete walls.

A calming potion would have been useful. But he hadn't packed any—stupidity on his part. They hadn't packed any of their daily potions. He would need to acquire them, and soon. His walls thickened as he calmed. Concerns, something to focus on, daily routine. Harry let out a sigh as he regained control. It paid to be a man of habit. You could always fall back on that, to keep you sane.

"Potter?"

Harry closed his eyes once more. Maybe he needed that calming potion a little more than he'd thought.

Draco noticed the change as soon as he stepped into the room. Subtle in some ways. And then in others—Potter showed the fatigue of a marathon runner. That much was obvious. "Are you okay?" Already he regretted his choice of words. Potter chuckled darkly.

"Do you believe in penitence, Malfoy?"

Confused, Draco opened his mouth. Then closed it with a snap. "I have no regrets."

Green eyes shifted to meet his. There was a sparkle to him, almost manic, yet there wasn't any energy behind it. Only an ill-concealed strength that refused to die. Even when the body and soul had long given up.

"Neither do I." Potter whispered, causing Draco's eyes to wander to his lips.

Harry closed his eyes, a few more locks, another layer of steel, and he was ready to go. His glamours were fading, but he was sure they'd hold up long enough for him to find some time alone. Opening his eyes he smirked. "See something you like?"

Gray eyes widened in horror.

"Don't worry." Harry said as he stood, cheeky attitude in place. "You're not completely undesirably. Not what I usually what I go for. But one can't be picky when the pickings are slim, won't you agree?"

With that Harry removed himself from the presence of the blond, hoping to make it to the kitchen, where he'd heard the telltale signs of children, before he was hexed into the next millennium.

It only took Draco a nanosecond longer before he was screaming. "Why you!" His colorful choices of explicit words to indicate his outrage were cut off as his darling children surrounded the man, all smiles and innocent eyes.

"Fucking hell."

* * *

**Important Information:** I should probably have mentioned this at the beginning. But I rewrote the story. Yup. So...I personaly believe it is unnecessary to reread the previous chapters. A little rewriting there, an added thing there. I don't think you'll be missing much. Well then, until next time! Cheers. 


End file.
